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DOLORES. 


.A.    ID  IE  ZLIO-IH:  T  IFTJ  L    IST 

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A     CHARMING      STORY. 

DIANA  CAREW; 

OR, 

IF  O  IR,     A.     -VSTO  HUE.A  HST'S      S-A-I 


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M I  G-  N  O  N. 


MKS.  FOKRESTEK, 

AUTHOR  OF  "DIANA  CAREW,"  "DOLORES,"  "FAIR  WOMEN,"  "MY  HERO," 
"FROM  OLYMPUS  TO  HADES." 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO. 

1877. 


tar 


MIGNON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  is  afternoon  of  the  — th  of  June.  Mrs.  Stratheden 
is  "  at  home." 

But  Mrs.  Stratheden's  "  at  homes"  are  very  different  from 
the  general  run  of  those  vapid  and  dreary  entertainments 
(heaven  save  the  mark  !)  that  are  made  nowadays  to  do  duty  for 
more  genial  and  costly  hospitality.  Men  go  to  them,  yes,  actually 
men ;  not  decrepit  old  fellows  nor  unfledged  youths,  but  men, 
— the  sort  of  men  you  see  in  club  windows,  on  four-in-hands, 
at  St.  Stephen's  and  elsewhere.  The  State,  the  Bar,  the 
Army,  are  represented  in  her  drawing-rooms,  and,  very  occa- 
sionally, the  Church.  There  is  one  pleasant-faced,  cheery- 
mannered  divine  of  most  eloquent  tongue  and  practical  good 
sense,  who  thinks  a  half-hour  now  and  then  not  at  all  ill  spent 
at  one  of  these  reunions. 

People  do  not  come  here  as  they  do  to  most  "  at  homes," 
thinking  it  an  awful  bore  and  resolving  to  get  away  again  as 
soon  as  possible ;  and  indeed  who  would  not  rather  be  rolling 
through  the  pleasant  cheery  streets  in  their  carriage,  than 
crushing  toilettes  and  rubbing  angry  shoulders  in  a  social 
bear-garden  in  the  struggle  to  catch  the  hostess's  eye — poor 
bewildered  woman !  that  she  may  know  they  have  not  neg- 
lected to  honor  her  reception.  Reception  !  there  is  not  one 
Englishwoman  in  five  hundred  who  knows  how  to  receive,  far 
less  to  entertain.  I  should  doubt  if  there  are  ten  women  in 
London  who  could  invite  fifty  people  to  an  "afternoon"  and 
send  them  all  away  pleased  and  satisfied.  I  should  be  sorry 
to  be  asked  to  put  my  hand  upon  the  nine  ;  but  Mrs.  Strath- 
eden would  be  the  tenth,  or  rather,  perhaps,  the  first.  To 

1*  6 


\itli,  she  did  not  issue  cards  for  a  series  of  days,  as  the 
common  practice  is,  but  sent  a  separate  invitation  for  every 
ion  and  had  the  happy  knack  of  asking  the  right  people 
h  other.  Few  houses  could  be  better  adapted  for 
:ui  -at  II..MI.  than  hers.  It  was  not  a  hundred  miles  from 
May  l-'.iir.  and  it  was,  literally  and  truly,  a  "bijou  residence," 
ptri  kingly  unlike  what  auctioneers  love  to  designate  by  that 
taking  title.  A  "bijou  residence,"  being  translated,  usually 
means  a  poky,  inconvenient  little  house,  destitute  of  every 
comfort  and  convenience,  and  not  improbably  "  giving"  on  a 
mews  from  the  hack  windows.  Agents  would  undoubtedly 
have  called  this  a  mansion.  It  had  six  bond  fide  reception- 
rooms, — dining-room,  library,  billiard-room,  two  drawing- 
rooms  entirely  separate,  and  a  boudoir.  There  was  therefore 
no  difficulty  in  dUrihuting  the  guests.  Mrs.  Stratheden 

1  in  one  drawing-room;  in  the  other  there  was  always 
1  not  depend  upon  her  friends,  but  had  profes- 
sionals,— not  eminent  artists  who  sang  their  highly-paid  song 

a  compulsory  hush  and  rushed  away  again  immediately, 

-  who  if  not  of  a  wide  celebrity  invariably  gave 
pleasure  and  satisfaction.     One  was  a  young  man  who  sang 

h  songs  charmingly  and  played  the  newest  and  most 
popular  waltzes;  the  other  was  a  girl  with  the  sweetest  voice 

,  ihle  who  >;m<;  English  ballads.  Stray  couples  found 
their  way  to  the  boudoir,  to  admire  the  perfect  taste  of  its 
a  rr;  i!  or  to  look  at  photographs,  or into  each 

•  s.     The   billiard-room   was  very  popular, — there 
iiy  nooks  and  corners  in  it,  and  the  click  of  the 

bulls  made  l,iw-toned  conversations  easy  to  the  speakers  and 

Me  to  would-l>e  listeners.     There  were  whist-tables  in 

the  lihr.iry.  if  any  one  eared  to  play.     In  the  dining-room, 

..imled   1'hillis  and  a  coadjutor  served  tea,  coffee,  straw- 

68,   and   wine   and   liqueurs   to    the 

Ilieir  lady  did  not  number  many  tea-drinkm** 

IIIMIIJ  her  ae.juaint.: 

1  me.  then.  Mrs.  Stratheden  is  receiving. 
Let  uie  >ho\v  her  to  -tands,  a  slim  hand  outstretched, 

a  man  who  has  just  entered. 

Look  at   her  well  :  she  h.is  u  considerable  part  to  play  in  this 

and  her  hi~t.,ry  i.  a  very  strange  one.     Not  a  beautiful 

nl  no  one  would  ever  call  her  that,  for  her  charm  is 


MIGNON.  7 

chiefly  dependent  upon  expression.  She  is  gracious,  elegant, 
and  has  as  much  vivacity  as  is  compatible  with  being  "grande 
dame  jusquau  bout  des  ongles"  A  face  that  would  never 
simper  from  a  "  Keepsake"  nor  a  "  Book  of  Beauty,"  but 
might  be  engraved  on  more  than  one  man's  heart.  How 
old  ?  Old  enough  to  know  the  world  thoroughly, — to  have 
gauged  the  depth  of  its  woes,  the  shallows  of  its  pleasures, 
the  vanity  of  its  aspirations,  the  falseness  of  its  illusions. 
How  young  ?  Young  enough  to  attract  love  and  admiration ; 
young  enough  for  it  to  be  possible  that  the  best  of  her  life  is 
still  lying  in  the  future. 

Many  men  have  loved,  many  women  hated  her,  and  yet, 
strange  to  tell,  no  whisper  of  scandal  has  ever  left  its  dulling 
breath  upon  the  mirror  of  her  fair  fame.  Few  women  live  so 
free,  so  unrestrained  a  life,  but  no  one  suspects  her  of  abusing 
her  position  :  it  is  an  enigma  that  has  ceased  to  be  one  because 
the  world  has  grown  accustomed  to  it.  Women  assign  as  a 
reason  her  coldness  ;  men  say, — nay,  I  think  they  exercise  the 
masculine  virtue  of  reticence  and  say  nothing.  Mrs.  Strath- 
eden  is  speaking :  the  timbre  of  her  voice  is  delicious,  low, 
soft,  and  clear.  ^ 

"  Sir  Tristram  1  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  back !" 

It  is  pleasant  to  return  to  one's  country  after  a  long  ab- 
sence ;  it  is  pleasant  to  be  welcomed  by  a  charming  woman 
whose  eyes  are  in  harmony  with  her  lips  as  she  gives  you  a 
glad  greeting.  So  thinks  Sir  Tristram. 

"  And  I,"  he  answers,  "  am  delighted  to  see  you  again. 
How  well  you  are  looking !  Not  a  day  older,  and  as  charming 
as  ever  !" 

"  You  have  not  lost  your  civilized  little  habit  of  saying 
pleasant  things  in  the  wilds,"  she  smiles.  "  I  am  dying  to 
hear  all  about  your  travels.  I  tried  very  hard  to  persuade 
Mr.  Conyngham  to  bring  you  to  dine  with  me  to-night,  but 
men,  some  men"  (glancing  maliciously  at  the  third  member 
of  the  group),  "  are  so  selfish.  He  said  he  must  have  you  to 
himself  to-night." 

"  I  admit  the  soft  impeachment,"  laughs  Mr.  Conyngham. 
"I  am  a  confirmed,  inveterate  bachelor,  and  that  genius  is 
proverbially  selfish.  If  I  could  have  given  him  up  to  any 
one,  it  would  have  been  to  you." 

"  When  will  you  come  and  dine  with  me  ?"  Mrs.  Strath- 


8  MIGNON. 

eden  asks  Sir  Tristram.  "  I  want  you  quite  alone.  Alone, 
you  know,  means  Mrs.  Forsyth  and  myself." 

"  Oh,  any  night,"  he  answers.  "  I  shall  be  only  too  de- 
lighted. To-morrow,  though,  I  have  to  go  into  Surrey  to 
see  my  new  property.  By  the  way,  did  you  hear  that  my 
crotchety  old  uncle,  whom  I  never  saw,  had  left  me  his  estate 
there?" 

"  I  saw  it  in  the  '  Illustrated,'  and  was  delighted.  I  con- 
Lr rat  u lute  you.  Not"  (smiling)  "  that  you  were  much  in  need 
of  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  was  ungrateful  enough  to  think  it  rather  a 
bore  when  the  news  reached  me,"  says  Sir  Tristram.  "  It  is 
an  additional  responsibility,  of  course." 

"  Hand  it  over  to  me,  my  dear  fellow,"  interrupts  his 
fririid.  "  I  should  not  feel  the  gene  of  that  sort  of  responsi- 
bility in  the  least." 

"  I  shall  not  be  back  until  late  to-morrow  night,"  Sir 
Tristram  continues,  addressing  Mrs.  Stratheden. 

"  And  I  dine  out  to-morrow  and  Wednesday,"  she  answers. 
"Shall  it  be  Thursday?" 

"  Yes ;  on  Thursday  I  shall  be  charmed."^ 

"  And  you  will  tell  me  all  about  India,  China,  and  Mexico  ?" 
lau-lis  Mrs.  Stratheden; 

'  Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field, 
And  of  the  cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 
The  Anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders.' 

"  In  your  three  years  of  travel  you  must  have  seen  almost 
as  much  as  Othello." 

"And  you  will  be  Desdemona?"  says  Sir  Tristram,  play- 

" Fancy  a  dark,  middle-aged  Desdemona!"  she  laughs.  "1 
saw  such  an  one  once  at  a  country  theatre,  and  it  made  me  laugh 
inordinately.  No !  but  I  mean  to  find  you  a  fair,  young  one  ; 
for  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  you  will  be  allowed  to  remain 
a  bachelor  much  longer." 

"  Thank  heaven,  it  is  not  worth  any  one's  while  to  insist 
on  marrying  me  1"  interposes  Mr.  Conyngham,  with  a  wry 
face. 

At  this  moment  other  guests  are  announced,  and  the  two 
men  make  way  for  them. 


MIGNON.  9 

"  Come  into  the  music-room,"  whispers  Mr.  Conyngham, 
and  Sir  Tristram  follows  him. 

As  they  enter,  a  slight  dark  girl  is  singing  an  old  English 
ballad  very  sweetly  to  a  considerable  and  evidently  appreciative 
audience.  When  it  is  finished,  Sir  Tristram  finds  himself  the 
centre  of  a  group  of  old  friends  and  acquaintances,  who  greet 
him  with  evident  pleasure.  When  at  last  Mr.  Conyngham 
succeeds  in  carrying  him  off,  he  is  booked  for  about  a  dozen 
entertainments  of  different  kinds. 

"  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  rich  and  titled  !"  says  his  friend, 
with  latent  sarcasm. 

"  You  old  cynic !"  replies  Sir  Tristram,  gayly.  "  Is  that 
why  you  are  so  fond  of  me?" 

"  I  want  to  show  you  the  boudoir, — the  most  perfect 
woman's-room  I  was  ever  in.  We  shall  probably  drop  upon 
a  stray  couple  of  lovers ;  but  they  won't  take  any  notice  of 
us,  if  we  don't  of  them." 

He  pushes  open  the  door,  and  discloses  two  young  people 
seated  on  a  couch.  The  man  looks  up  with  a  real  English 
stare  which  says,  plainly,  "  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by 
your  impertinence  in  disturbing  me  ?"  but  it  gives  way  to 
quite  a  different  expression  when  he  recognizes  the  intruder. 

"  Sir  Tristram  !  is  it  you  ?  I  did  not  know  you  were  back. 
I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Raymond  1'Estrange?"  utters  Sir  Tristram,  half  in  doubt. 
"  Why,  my  dear  boy,  I  should  not  have  known  you.  You 
are  big  enough  for  a  Life  Guardsman  !"  And  he  shakes  him 
warmly  by  the  hand. 

"  What  a  handsome  fellow !"  he  thinks  to  himself.  "  He 
was  always  a  good-looking  boy ;  but  I  never  dreamed  of  his 
turning  into  this." 

"Then  of  course  you  would  not  have  known  me,"  inter- 
rupts an  arch  voice,  and  the  prettiest,  most  piquante,  mignonne 
creature  jumps  up  off  the  sofa  and  joins  the  group. 

"  Not  Kitty — not  Miss  Fox  !"  ejaculates  Sir  Tristram. 

"  Yes.     Kitty  Fox." 

"  By  Jove !"  he  cries,  with  a  glance  of  mingled  admira- 
tion and  affection  at  the  gold-framed  cherub  face  upturned  to 
him. 

It  only  wants  one  glance  to  see  that  this  is  the  most  arch, 
mischievous,  impertinent  little  sprite  in  the  world. 
A* 


10  MIONON. 

1  last  time  I  saw  you,"  continues  Sir  Tristram,  "I 
rescued  vmi  and  vards  of  torn  frock  from  an  apple-tree,  whilst 
your  poor  governess  stood  bathed  in  tears  at  the  foot." 

I,  by  Jnve,  it's  me  !"  she  retorts,  with  glee  ;  "  and  I'm 
out.  I'm  I  ;ind  three-quarters;  I  was  presented  this 

season,  and  I'm  going  to  get  married  before  it's  over.  /  don't 
in,  an  t.i  n main  a  dniir  in  the  market,  I  can  tell  you." 

•  I 'ray."  a.-kcd  Sir  Tristram,  laughing,  "is  it  any  use  my 
putting  in  a  claim  ?    But  I  suppose  you  think  I'm  old  enough 

VMiir  'grandfather?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  won't  have  you,"  she  says,  her  eyes  dancing 
with  fun.  "  You  are  too  nice  ;  and  I  mean  to  bully  my  hus- 
band. It's  so  vulgar  to  be  fond  of  each  other  nowadays.  And 
I'm  nut  i:««iiii:  to  marry  Raymond,  though  you  did  find  us  in 
such  >u>pieioiis  proximity  just  now:  he  has  the  most  awful 
temper,  and  we  should  lead  a  cat-and-dog  life." 

••  I  low  should  I  suit  you,  Miss  Kitty?"  inquires  Mr. 
Conyngham. 

"  Very  well  indeed,  as  far  as  not  caring  for  you  goes,"  re- 
torts the  impertinent  minx  ;  "  but  you  haven't  enough  money." 

"  Every  misfortune  has  its  consolations,"  he  says,  making 
her  a  little  bow. 

"  You  mean  that  to  be  '  sarcastical,'  "  she  laughs.  "  For- 
tunately for  me,  I  am  very  stupid,  and  don't  understand  your 
dark  savii 

"  How's  the  colonel,  Kitty  ?"  interrupts  Sir  Tristram.  "  I 
suppose  I  must  call  YOU  Miss  Fox,  though,  now." 

"  Not  worth  while,  as  I  don't  mean  to  be  Miss  Fox  much 
(Hi.  papa's  very  well.  Playing  whist  in  the  library, 
I  think.  Jle'll  be  delighted  to  see  you  (if  he  isn't  in  the 
middle  of  a  rubber).  Let's  go  and  find  him." 

•  How  is  your  mother,  Raymond?"  asks  Sir  Tristram,  as 

ml  the  stairs.     "  Is  she  in  town?" 

"  Yes,  and  about  the  same  as  usual.  I  hope  you'll  come 
and  see  her  soon.  She'll  be  so  awfully  glad  to  see  you." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will.  Give  her  my  love,  and  say  I'll  call  to- 
morrow ;  no,  not  to-morrow  ;  the  next  day." 

Ten  minutes  later  Sir  Tristram  and  Mr.  Conyngham 
emerge  from  .Mrs.  Stratheden's  house  and  wend  their  way 

iilly  wards. 
If  you  wanted  to  exhibit  to  a  foreigner  a  perfect  type  of 


MIGNON.  11 

an  English  gentleman,  you  would  probably  (had  you  known 
him)  have  selected  Sir  Tristram  Bergholt  for  your  specimen. 
No  longer  a  young  man,  yet  not  too  old  to  be  pleasing  to 
women,  frank-mannered  but  lacking  nothing  of  dignity,  cour- 
teous, well  bred,  utterly  devoid  of  slanginess  (the  fashion  and 
the  taint  of  the  age),  refined  without  affectation,  genial, 
generous,  kind-hearted.  Proud,  perhaps,  but  only  proud  in 
the  right  way, — proud  of  sustaining  the  honor  of  his  house, 
too  proud  to  be  guilty  of  a  meanness,  proud  in  resenting  im- 
pertinent familiarity ;  not  proud,  as  is  the  fashion  nowadays, 
of  the  bare  possession  of  a  title  and  wealth  and  using  them,  as 
is  too  often  the  case,  to  procure  unworthy  indulgence  or  to 
cover  mean  or  base  actions. 

Without  being  strictly  handsome,  he  is  particularly  good- 
looking  and  has  a  thoroughly  distinguished  air.  His  six-and- 
furty  years  sit  lightly  on  him :  there  are  not  a  great  many 
silver  hairs  among  his  brown  locks,  nor  has  Time  as  yet 
traced  a  very  elaborate  pattern  about  his  brow  or  mouth ;  his 
handsome  gray  eyes  are  full  of  brightness  and  vivacity ;  his 
teeth  are  strong  and  white.  A  man  "  in  the  prime  of  life," 
most  people  would  have  said. 

Fred  Conyrigham,  the  one  great  friend  of  his  life,  is  rather 
younger,  but  looks  years  older.  He  has  a  plain,  shrewd  face, 
and  looks  what  he  is,  a  thorough  man  of  the  world.  A  sceptic, 
with  a  vein  of  cynicism,  a  strong  sense  of  humor,  as  much 
selfishness  as  goes  to  the  making  of  a  man  of  the  world,  a 
caustic  wit,  and  really  and  truly,  though  he  is  very  much 
ashamed  of  and  would  not  admit  it,  a  kind  heart.  He  loves 
Sir  Tristram  nearly  as  well  as  himself,  and  better  than  any 
other  living  human  being. 

"  What  a  wonderful  woman  that  is !"  says  Sir  Tristram. 
"  What  a  charming  house  !  what  perfect  taste  she  has  !" 

"  Perfect,"  assents  his  friend.  u  You  have  not  seen  it  be- 
fore? No  !  she  took  it  just  after  you  went  abroad.  It  was 
a  very  different-looking  place  then,  but  she  got  a  long  lease 
and  has  almost  rebuilt  it." 

"  And  yet,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  thoughtfully,  "  she  does  not 
look  a  happy  woman.  I  wish  she  would  marry  some  nice 
fellow." 

"  Pshaw !  she  has  everything  she  wants,  and  is  sensible 
enough  not  to  give  any  one  the  chance  of  making  her  misera- 


12  MIONON. 

ble.     She  married  once  to  some  purpose,  and  now,  like  a  wise 
woman,  is  content  to  rest  upon  her  laurels." 

"  Nonsense,  Fred  !  you  can't  call  going  through  a  ceremony 
with  a  fellow  on  his  death-bed,  mam  in-.  ' 

"  Can't  you  ?  by  Jove  !  Anyhow,  the  ceremony  you  speak 
of  with  Mich  contempt  converted  her  from  a  penniless  girl  into 
a  (-harming  widow  with  any  quantity  of  thousands  a  year. 
The  odd  part  of  it  is,  she  has  all  the  aplomb  and  dignity  of  a 
man  led  woman.  It  always  takes  an  effort  of  memory  on  my 
part  to  remember  her  real  story." 

•or  Olga!"  ejaculates  Sir  Tristram:  "she  might  have 
made  some  fellow  very  happy." 

"  And  as  it  is,"  retorts  his  friend,  "  she  extends  her  benefi- 
cence to  a  hundred.  Her  cook  and  cellar  are  perfect,  and  a 
good  many  men  would  like  to  hang  their  hats  up  at  No.  1000." 

"  Do  you  think  there  are  not  lots  of  fellows  who  would 
marry  Olga  Stratheden  without  a  penny?"  cries  Sir  Tristram, 
warmly. 

"Can't  say,"  returns  Fred  Conyngham,  with  a  cynical 
twist  of  his  mouth.  "Fortunately  for  her,  they  haven't 
been  put  to  the  test.  I  think  the  tender  passion  is  greatly 
augmented  in  our  selfish  breasts  when  the  fair  object  of  it 
has  as  many  adventitious  adjuncts  as  Mrs.  Stratheden." 

•  •d,  I'm  a>hamedof  you!    You  don't  believe  in  anything, 
you  old  reprobate !" 

Vrs,  I  do.  I  believe  in  my  appetite  and  my  digestion. 
When  either  of  those  fail  me,  faith  will  be  a  word  of  empty 
sound  in  my  ears." 

"  Where  do  we  dine  ?— Boodle's,  or  the  Wyndham?" 

"  Neither.     I  have  a  little  surprise  for  you.     I  am  sick  of 
clubs,  especially  this  time  of  year.     We  are  going  to  dine  at 
Here  we  are  1" 


MIQNON.  13 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  I  follow  a  more  easy  and,  in  my  opinion,  a  wiser  course,  namely,  to 
inveigh  against  the  levity  of  the  female  sex,  their  fickleness,  their 
double  dealing,  their  rotten  promises,  their  broken  faith ;  and,  finally, 
their  want  of  judgment  in  bestowing  their  affections.  These,  gentlemen, 
are  my  reasons  for  the  discourse  you  heard  me  address  to  my  goat, 
whom  (because  she  is  a  female)  I  despise,  although  she  be  the  best  of 
the  fold."  CERVANTES. 

MR.  CONYNGHAM  takes  out  his  latch-key  and  opens  the 
door  of  a  pleasant-looking  house  in  Piccadilly,  facing  the 
Green  Park.  He  precedes  his  friend  up  two  nights  of  stairs 
and  throws  open  the  door  of  a  large,  airy  room. 

"  This  is  a  great  improvement  upon  your  last  quarters," 
remarks  Sir  Tristram,  as  he  enters. 

"  Yes.  I  begin  to  feel  the  want  of  a  home  now.  Club 
life  is  dull  and  lonely  after  a  certain  time :  one's  contemporaries 
get  married  or  die. 

'  Marriage  and  death  and  division 
Make  barren  our  lives.' 

I  get  a  better  dinner  at  home,  and  don't  have  to  wait  for  it, 
and  I  like  to  sit  at  my  window  afterwards  and  smoke.  I've 
got  used  to  the  noise,  and  the  look-out  over  the  Park  is 
charming." 

The  room  is  a  thorough  man's  room.  By  that  I  do  not 
mean  a  young  man's  room  such  as  has  been  described  by  the 
novelist  ad  nauseam, — an  assemblage  of  foils,  whips,  guns, 
boxing-gloves,  cigar-chests,  etc.,  etc.,  mixed  up  with  pictures 
of  favorite  racers  and  sirens  more  or  less  lightly  clad ;  but  I 
mean  the  room  of  a  man  who  has  outgrown  the  swagger  and 
affectations  of  boyhood  and  settled  down  into  a  steady-going, 
respectable  member  of  society.  Fred  Conyngham's  room  is 
the  perfection  of  neatness  and  comfort ;  everything  is  hand- 
some, solid,  and  useful ;  there  is  nothing  "  gim-crack"  through- 
out its  length  and  breadth.  The  only  indication  that  its  owner 
is  a  votary  of  "le  sport"  is  the  neat  mahogany  gun-case  fastened 

2 


14  MIGNON. 

to  the  wall,  through  the  glass  windows  of  which  you  may 
Ill-hold  two  pair.-  of  vrorknunlike-looking  breech-loaders  and  a 
..mi.     A  large,  well-tilled  book-case  occupies  two-thirds 
w.ill.  a  writing-table  that  holds  everything  a  writer 
could  possibly  want  stands  near  the  window,  an  inviting  sofa 
ami  various  ea>y-ehairs  court  repose,  there  are  stands  for  news- 
aml   m.igazines,  a  handsome  mahogany  what-not  and 
mi.-  nr  two  cupboards  happily  combining  the  useful  with  the 
ornamental.     Of  bond  fide  ornament  there  is  very  little:   a 
magnificent  clock  and  pair  of  bronzes  on  the  mantel-piece, 
BOOM  genuine  old  brass  dogs  on  the  hearth,  a  few  bright, 
charming  pictures  on  the  wall,  of  whose  value  the  names  on 
the  frame  are  sufficient  guarantee,  and  the  catalogue  of  orna- 
ment is  finished. 

The  table  is  laid  for  dinner.  Every  appointment — damask, 
plat  I-,  glass — is  perfect.  In  the  centre  stands  a  bowl  of  roses 
whirh  do  not  in  the  least  look  as  though  they  had  come  from 
the  green-grocer's,  as  indeed  they  have  not.  Truth  to  tell, 
they  were  plucked  only  this  morning  by  a  fair  maid's  fingers 
in  a  garden  not  twenty  miles  from  London,  where  green  wil- 
lows dip  their  feathery  branches  into  the  Thames  and  past 
bank  proud  graceful  swans  sail.  Fred  has  friends 
among  that  sex  which  he  loves  to  revile. 

I   see  you  have  become  a  confirmed  old  bachelor  since  I 
1-Tt    Kngland,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  as  they  return   from  an 
•tion  of  tin-  rest  of  Mr.  Conyngham's  "  appartement" 

u  Confirmed,"  replies  the  other.  "As  I  told  Mrs.  Strath- 
cden,  thank  heaven  it  is  not  worth  any  one's  while  to  insist  on 
marrying  me." 

"  And  yet,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  reflectively,  "  I  am  not  sure 
if  one  had  a  nice  wife " 

"  If!"  retorts  Fred  :  "  that  is  about  the  biggest  if  you  can 
well  pitch  upon.  Well,  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  come  to 
it  sooner  or  later  ;  but  give  me  my  dinner  of  herbs  witli 
peace, — or,  better  still,  a  stalled  ox  with  peace.  I  don't  know 
why  the  two  should  be  incompatible.  Come !  here's  our 
stalled  ox,  or  a  bit  of  him,  in  the  soup-tureen.  I  don't  know 
how  you  feel,  but  I  don't  eat  lunch  and  am  quite  ready  for 
my  dinner.  Here's  the  menu.  I  won't  answer  for  the  spell- 
ing ;  but  indifferent  English  is  better  than  bad  French,  in  my 
opinion." 


MIGNON.  15 

The  dinner  is  of  the  choicest,  everything  is  cooked  to  per- 
fection, the  champagne  iced  to  a  turn,  and  Mr.  Conyngham's 
servant  is  as  quick  and  noiseless  as  a  slave  in  an  Eastern  tale. 

The  great  event  of  the  day  is  over,  and  the  two  friends  are 
placidly  smoking  their  cigars  by  the  open  window.  Sir  Tris- 
tram is  complimenting  Fred  upon  his  cook. 

"  Quite  a  cordon  bleu"  he  says,  with  a  smile. 

"  Not  so  bad,"  Fred  answers,  a  conscious  smile  widening 
his  mobile  lips. 

"  Not  so  bad  !  By  Jove  !  I'll  answer  that  no  two  men  in 
London  have  dined  better  than  you  and  I  to-night.  Where 
did  you  pick  her  up  ?" 

"  D'Aubray  sent  her  me  from  Paris." 

"  A  Frenchwoman !" 

"  No,  but  she  learned  her  art  there." 

The  days  are  at  their  longest :  it  is  not  yet  dark :  the  rattle 
of  omnibuses  and  cabs  has  subsided  ;  conversation  is  no  longer 
an  effort.  Nevertheless  the  pauses  are  frequent  and  of  con- 
siderable duration,  as  is  the  case  with  men  who  are  intimate 
enough  to  follow  their  inclination  without  feeling  the  necessity 
of  playing  at  company.  It  is  not  because  they  have  nothing 
to  say,  but,  on  the  contrary,  so  much,  that  it  is  difficult  to 
begin.  This  difficulty  is  not  uncommon  with  friends  who 
have  not  met  for  a  long  time. 

"  Tristram,''  says  Mr.  Conyngham,  after  an  interval  of 
silence,  following  aloud  a  thought  that  has  been  occupying 
him,  "  I'm  afraid  your  doom  is  sealed." 

Sir  Tristram  rouses  himself  with  a  little  start :  he  too  has 
evidently  been  away  on  a  mental  journey. 

"  Doom  !"  he  echoes.  "  What  are  you  talking  about,  Fred?" 

"  I  have  observed  an  undercurrent  of  it  pervading  your 
letters  for  some  time,"  pursues  Mr.  Conyngham,  "  and  I  have 
been  preparing  myself  to  meet  it.  You  have  been  thinking 
seriously  lately  of  marrying.  You  can't  deny  it !  Pshaw  !" 
(as  Sir  Tristram  hesitates)  "  I  know  all  about  it, — old  property, 
no  direct  successor,  future  generations  unborn,  etc.,  etc.  My 
dear  fellow,  you've  led  a  very  comfortable  easy-going  life  for 
forty-six  years;  take  my  advice  and  spend  the  twenty-four 
remaining  ones  in  peace,  as  I  intend  to  do." 

"  Every  one  to  his  taste,"  answers  Sir  Tristram,  gayly.  "  If 
you  can  look  forward  to  a  lonely  old  age  with  equanimity  and 


IQ  MJONON. 

find  books  your  pleasantest  companions  and  your  dinner  the 
only  consideration  of  importance,  I  won't  attempt  to  convert 
you  ;  hut  I  confess,  for  my  own  part,  I  feel  the  want  of  some- 
thing more.  The  companionship  and  sympathy  of  a  bright 
young  creature " 

"Good  heavens!"  interrupts  Fred,  regarding  him  with 
serio-comic  horror ;  "young  did  you  say?" 

"  You  don't  suppose,"  retorts  Sir  Tristram,  the  color  deep- 
en! ni:  in  his  bronzed  cheek, — "you  don't  suppose  I  am  going 
to  marry  an  old  one!  My  own  age,  for  instance?" 

"  There  are  degrees.  You  wouldn't  surely  be  fool  enough 
t«  marry  a  <rirl  of  seventeen  or  eighteen.  Why,  when  you  are 
an  old  fellow  of  sixty,  she  will  be  one-and-thirty,  just  in  her 
prime.  Now,  my  dear  old  boy,  vanity  never  was  your  weak 
point,  and  you  always  had  a  very  fair  share  of  common  sense : 
do  you  suppose  that  a  handsome  young  woman  (of  course  you 
intend  her  to  be  handsome)  is  likely  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
battered  remains  of  what  has  been  a  fine  man  ?" 

••  Hang  it,  Fred,"  cries  Sir  Tristram,  laughing,  though  not 
particularly  pleased,  "  I  have  not  come  to  battered  remains 
yet,  I  hope.  However,  it  is  rather  premature  to  discuss  the 
subject.  I  have  not  been  in  England  a  week  ;  and  I  certainly 
have  not  seen  any  one,  so  far,  whom  I  feel  inclined  to  ask  to 
be  Lady  Bergholt." 

I  lark  ye,  Tristram,"  says  his  friend  ;  "  I  want  to  have  a 
little  serious  conversation  with  you.  Your  feelings  are  not 
•  •d  so  far,  therefore  my  task  won't  be  quite  so  hard. 
Although  you  are  a  man  of  the  world  and  have  seen  a  good 
deal  of  life,  you  were  always  rather  an  ingenuous  and  unsus- 
picious youth,  added  to  which  you  have  been  out  of  your  own 
country  for  three  years,  and  you  have  not  the  least  idea  how 
tin-  honorable  estate  of  matrimony  has  deteriorated  and  been 
degraded  in  that  time.  Marriage  is  the  curse  of  nine-tenths 
of  men  nowadays.  In  the  good  old  time,  when  women  were 
keepers  at  home,  when  they  sewed  and  spun  with  their  maids, 
]>rc] lared  conserves  and  confectionery,  physicked  the  poor,  and 
'  made  their  own  souls,'  it  may  have  been  a  bearable  institu- 
tion,— though  I  expect  female  tongues  were  as  shrill  and 
female  tempers  had  as  many  angles  as  now ;  but  to-day,  when 
women  only  take  a  husband  as  an  irksome  appendage  to  free- 
dom, to  unbounded  extravagance  and  unbridled  license  of 


MIONON.  17 

behavior,  heaven  help  the  poor  fool  who  runs  his  head  into 
that  noose !  Look  around  you,  Tristram,  before  you  take  a 
step  from  which  there  is  no  return  but  through  a  shameful 
gate,  and,  when  you  see  a  poor  wretch  writhing  under  the 
fetters  he  has  manacled  himself  with,  say,  '  There,  but  for  my 
friend  Fred,  goes  Tristram  Bergholt.'  Women  are  not  what 
they  were,  though  for  the  matter  of  that  nothing  is.  Don't 
talk  to  me  about  the  doctrine  of  perfectibility ! — as  far  as  I 
can  see,  everything  is  going  to  the  dogs  as  fast  as  it  can.  Look 
at  the  army  !  I'm  not  a  soldier,  but  I  know  deuced  well  what 
these  new  systems  and  pretended  economies  are  bringing  it  to. 
If  the  British  tax-payer  doesn't  have  to  put  his  hand  into  his 
pocket  twice  over  to  make  up  for  it,  I  shall  be  very  much 
astonished.  I  saw  a  batch  of  recruits  the  other  day.  Pah  1 
it  made  me  positively  ill : — no  chests,  no  legs,  no  stamina,  no 
height,  no  anything  there  ought  to  have  been.  Navy  not 
much  better.  As  to  the  lower  classes,  heaven  help  us  !  what 
with  school-board  education,  what  with  cheap  papers,  with 
unprincipled  ruffians  persuading  them  that  they  are  equal  to 
their  masters  and  better,  what  with  strikes,  high  wages,  emi- 
gration, etc.,  by  Jove !  we  shan't  have  any  lower  orders  soon. 
Oh  for  the  good  old  Tory  days,  when  betwixt  class  and  class 
there  was  a  great  gulf  fixed,  when  a  servant  looked  up  to  his 
master  and  '  the  maiden  to  the  hand  of  her  mistress,'  when 
every  family  had  its  faithful  old  servants,  a  thing  that,  mark 
my  words,  won't  exist  in  the  next  generation,  Tristram." 

"  I  am  afraid  they  are  dying  out,"  he  assents. 

"  When  you  go  into  a  shop  now,"  continues  Fred,  "  you  are 
served  by  '  young  ladies'  and  '  gentlemen.'  I  don't  so  much 
mind  an  elegant  young  female,  be-flounced  and  be-panniered, 
tripping  up  to  one  with  a  condescending  smile ;  but  when  a 
wretch  of  my  own  sex  minces  up  to  me  in  a  frock-coat  and  a 
crimson  tie,  with  his  perfumed  handkerchief  and  perhaps  a 
flower  in  his  button-hole,  a  Cain-like  feeling  comes  over  me, 
and  I  thirst  for  his  blood." 

Sir  Tristram  laughs. 

"  The  garrulity  of  age  is  creeping  over  you,  Fred,"  he  says. 
"  You  began  with  matrimony,  and  you  have  wandered  off, 
heaven  knows  where." 

"I'll  go  back,"  returns  Fred,  promptly.  "  We  have  all  the 
night  before  us,  and  I  feel  as  though  the  mantle  of  Juvenal 

2* 


18  MIONON. 

lia<l  falli-n  upon  me  and  I  could  go  on  for  hours  lashing  the 
Mark  to  the  women  !  Don't  you  remember 
when  \\e  were  young  men,  Tristram,  how  different  society 
was?  A  fast  married  woman  was  a  very  rare  thing:  you 
hardly  ever  saw  one  dance  a  round  dance.  Indeed,  young 
never  th«  m-lit  of  inviting  them,  except  as  a  sort  of 
civility  in  return  for  hospitality.  The  young  matrons  used  to 
sit  and  look  on  with  kind  sympathy  and  interest  at  the  girls : 
tliev  had  had  their  day.  Now,  if  you  please,  the  girls  are  the 
wallflowers  and  the  married  women  their  bitterest  and  most 
implacable  rivals.  Why,  the  other  night  the  Reds  gave  a 
ball  and  there  were  only  two  unmarried  women  asked.  What 
bn.-iness  have  women  who  have  husbands  of  their  own,  I 
should  like  to  know,  with  other  men's  arms  around  their 
waists,  other  men's  breath  in  their  faces,  with  their  flirtings 
and  whisperings,  their  oglings  and  meetings  !  Then  their  ex- 
travagance !  Why,  our  mothers  thought  a  good  deal  of  a 
couple  of  new  silk  gowns  a  year,  and  had  perhaps  a  velvet 
and  a  moire1  antique  as  standing  dishes,  but  now  the  number 
of  dresses  that  a  woman  of  moderate  income  thinks  it  neces- 
sary to  have  is  enough  to  make  your  hair  stand  on  end.  You 

know  Charlie  D .  He  has  about  two  thousand  a  year, 

which  he  augments  now  and  then  by  a  little  judicious  horse- 
dealinir,  and  his  wife  had  four  new  dresses  for  Ascot  last 
besides  evening  toilettes  and  a  gorgeous  dressing-gown 
fur  the  smoking-room.  Begad !  one  can  hardly  wonder  at  the 
women,  when  the  men  make  such  asses  and  mountebanks  of 
themselves.  Brocade  coats  and  trousers  lined  with  pink  or 
blue  quilted  satin  to  smoke  in,  and  their  monograms  in  gold 
on  their  slippers.  Bah  !"  And  Fred's  countenance  is  a  sight 

to  see.  "  Well !  little  Mrs.  D informed  me  with  great 

glee  about  her  four  marvellous  toilettes,  and  kindly  offered  me 
a  .-L'ht  of  them,  but,  as  I  declined,  she  insisted  on  describing 
then).  Three  came  from  Paris,  and  the  fourth  from  the  most 
extravagant  woman  in  London." 

"I  wonder  how  poor  Charlie  will  look  when  he  gets  the 
bill."  remarks  Sir  Tristram. 

u  I  I'm!"  says  Fred,  following  the  thin  stream  of  smoke 
that  i>  making  its  way  from  his  lips  to  the  window,  "these 
are  odd  times,  when  a  man  may  think  himself  fortunate  if  he 
M  asked  to  pay  his  wife's  bilk  It  seems  to  me  the  only 


MIONON.  19 

reputation  women  want  to  have  (a  good  many  of  them),  is  a 
bad  one." 

"  Fred,"  cries  Sir  Tristram,  "  I  am  not  going  to  be  demoral- 
ized ! — if  you  are  a  cynical  old  misogamist,  you  shall  not  per- 
vert me  into  one.  I  confess  it,  I  want  to  marry ;  and,  as  you 
keep  kindly  reminding  me  I  have  not  much  time  to  lose,  I 
shall  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of  presenting  my  wife  to 
you  (after  I  have  found  her).  Marriage  is  a  lottery ;  we  all 
know  that  trite  old  saying  by  heart.  I  believe  it's  the  happi- 
est state  in  the  world  if  things  work  reasonably  well.  Why, 
what  the  deuce !  I'm  not  an  ogre ;  I  feel  as  full  of  life  and 
health  as  I  ever  did.  I  can  give  my  wife  most  things  that 
satisfy  a  woman  moderately  easy  to  please :  why  should  I  not 
make  her  happy,  and  she  me?" 

"Ah,"  returns  Conyngham,  "  I  too  have  my  ideas  of  how 
marriage  could  and  should  be  the  happiest  state  in  the  world ; 
but  they  would  be  laughed  to  scorn  nowadays  as  old-fash- 
ioned, exploded,  impossible." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  them,"  says  Sir  Tristram. 

"  To  begin  with,  I  would  not  marry  a  woman  under  the  age 
of  three-  or  four-and- twenty  (I  mean  if  I  were  ten  or  fifteen 
years  younger  than  I  am).  At  that  age  she  ought  to  have 
attained  as  much  perfection  physically  and  mentally  as  she  is 
capable  of.  Only  conceive  to  yourself  the  mischief — moral, 
social,  physical — of  making  a  little  romp  of  seventeen  like 
Kitty  Fox  the  head  of  your  house,  the  keeper  of  your  honor, 
the  mother  of  your  children  !  And  yet  she  was  perfectly  seri- 
ous this  afternoon  when  she  told  you  that  she  meant  to  marry 
before  the  season  was  over.  Marriage  means  to  her  and  the 
girls  of  her  set,  not  an  awful  responsibility,  not  the  sealing  of 
her  doom  for  life  and  for  eternity  (if  there  is  one),  but  the 
means  of  throwing  off  all  restraint,  of  being  unlimitedly/as£, 
of  eclipsing  her  friends  by  the  splendor  of  her  dress  and  the 
number  of  her  lovers." 

"  Come,  come,  Fred,  you  are  exaggerating !  For  my  own 
part,  I  do  not  see  why  a  woman  should  not  be  well  dressed 
and  admired  after  her  marriage  as  well  as  before.  Why,  you 
confounded  old  Turk,  I  believe  you  would  like  to  shut  them 
all  up  and  only  let  them  go  about  veiled." 

"  No,  certainly  not.  The  only  veil  I  would  have  should  be 
their  own  sense  of  modesty  and  propriety." 


20  MIGNON. 

"  I  should  like  my  wife  to  be  charming  and  to  entertain  my 
friends,"  says  Sir  Tristram. 

"  So  should  I ;  but  there  are  different  ways  of  charming 
and  entertaining.  You  don't  want  her  to  entertain  them  by 
flirt  in*.:  with  them  and  letting  them  make  open  love  to  her 
In-hind  your  back!  Good  heavens!  the  state  of  society  is 
such  now  that  they  would  probably  do  it  before  your  face. 
You  don't  want  her  to  turn  every  acquaintance  into  an  object 
of  distrust  and  suspicion,  and  your  bosom  friend  into  the  man 
you  may  some  day  shoot,  or  want  to." 

"  Stuff  and  humbug !"  says  Sir  Tristram.  "  You  are  af- 
flicted with  a  moral  jaundice,  Fred.  Now  go  back  from  women 
as  you  say  they  are  to  your  ideal  woman." 

"  I  came  too  late  into  a  world  too  old," 

quotes  Conyngham,  with  a  grim  laugh.  "  I  doubt  if  I  could 
find  her  now.  Well,  the  ideal  woman  is  to  be  on  the  right 
side  of  five-and-twenty.  By  that  time  she  ought  to  be  old 
enough  to  know  her  own  mind,  to  have  fixed  her  wandering 
fancy,  and  to.be  sure  what  sort  of  man  is  likely  to  make  her 
happy." 

"  But  suppose  she  cannot  get  him !" 

"  Don't  interrupt  1  Once  married,  if  she  is  as  lovely  as 
Venus,  she  will  not  care  for  nor  accept,  far  less  try  to  win,  the 
admiration  of  any  man  but  her  husband.  She  will  rule  his 
house  with  prudence  and  discretion,  bring  up  his  children  to 
be  good  and  useful  members  of  society,  she  will  be  religious 
without  being  bigoted  (if  such  a  thing  is  possible  for  a 
woman)." 

"  Why,  Fred,  you  old  sceptic !     I  thought— 

"  An  irreligious  woman  is  a  monstrosity.  All  women  are 
superstitious ;  and  therefore  it  is  as  well  they  should  believe  in 
something  that  can  do  them  and  society  no  harm,  but  may,  on 
the  contrary,  do  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  if  she  is  not  frivolous, — which  the  ideal  woman 
would  of  course  not  be, — she  will  have  plenty  of  time,  with- 
out neglecting  her  children  and  household,  to  cultivate  her 
mind  and  to  make  herself  a  pleasant,  intelligent  companion  for 
her  husband  and  capable  of  charming  and  entertaining  his 
friends  as  you  would  have  her  do." 


MIGNON.  21 

"  The  ideal  woman  is  a  prig,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  rising, 
with  a  laugh,  "  and  you  are  very  welcome  to  her,  for  my  part. 
Of  the  two,  I  would  rather  have  little  Kitty  Fox." 

"  Ephraim  is  joined  to  his  idols:  let  him  alone !"  ejaculates 
Fred.  "  Well,  I  would  have  warned  you,  but  you  would  not 
let  me.  Don't  come  puling  to  me  when  it's  too  late.  Now, 
then,  tell  me  something  about  your  travels." 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Her  face  more  fair, 

Than  sudden-singing  April  in  soft  lands : 
*«-%#** 

There  is  no  touch  of  sun  or  fallen  rain 
That  ever  fell  on  a  more  gracious  thing." 

SWINBURNE. 

SIR  TRISTRAM  is  on  his  way  to  visit  his  new  possession. 
He  has  been  detained  by  business  all  the  morning,  and  the 
afternoon  is  considerably  advanced  before  he  arrives  at  The 
Warren.  He  has  elected  to  come  incognito  and  without  giv- 
ing notice  to  the  housekeeper  in  charge.  So  he  leaves  the  fly 
that  has  brought  him  to  the  station  at  the  tumble-down  village 
inn,  and  does  the  rest  of  the  thousand  yards  to  the  lodge-gates 
on  foot. 

It  is  a  bright,  hot  day,  but  delicious  airs  come  floating 
across  the  common,  airs  straight  from  heaven,  airs  that  have 
never  been  filtered  through  other  human  lungs  but  come  to 
him  pure  and  virginal,  perfumed  with  the  faint  wax-like  odors 
of  gorse  and  the  aromatic  scent  of  the  firs.  On  his  left  is 
the  long  belt  of  trees  that  skirts  his  park,  and  before  him  a 
great  expanse  of  common,  dotted  here  and  there  with  clumps 
of  firs.  Wave  upon  wave  of  golden-yellow  gorse  and  broom 
floats  before  his  eyes,  mingled  with  the  pink  of  budding 
heather.  Sir  Tristram  looks  at  the  scene  with  a  feeling  of 
complacency:  he  is  no  longer  bored  by  the  sense  of  the  "  ad- 
ditional responsibility." 

"  What  a  delicious  air !"  he  says,  taking  off  his  hat  and 


22  MIGNON. 

1 1 tin-  tin-  breeze  play  softly  over  the  dark  close-shorn  locks 
\ct  tiiiu!  has  not  thinned.  "A  charming  view  !  only 
want*  one  thing, — water.  No  scene  can  be  perfect  without 
that  !" 

Tin!  lodge  which  stands  at  the  entrance-gate  looks  dreary 
and  deserted  :  it  is  evidently  untenantcd.  He  opens  the  gate 
and  admits  himself.  The  drive  is  sadly  neglected  and  grass- 
grown  ;  the  trees  and  evergreens  that  skirt  the  path  on  either 
Bide  are  raukly  luxuriant  and  need  to  be  pruned  with  no  spar- 
ing hand.  A  fine  cock  pheasant  runs  across  the  road  in  front 
of  him,  and  he  counts  a  dozen  little  white  scuts  bobbing  up 
and  down  among  the  bracken.  "By  Jove !  that  looks  well !" 
he  thinks,  with  the  keen  pleasure  of  a  genuine  sportsman. 
Presently  he  arrives  at  a  spot  where  two  ways  meet,  and 
pauses  for  a  moment  in  uncertainty.  A  ringing  laugh  falls 
upon  his  ear,  the  laugh  of  a  sweet  full  young  voice :  it  is 
joined  in  and  swiftly  drowned  by  two  louder  ones. 

"  There  is  some  one  of  whom  I  can  ask  my  way,"  he 
tl links,  proceeding  in  the  direction  of  the  voices.  In  another 
moment  he  comes  upon  a  group  which  the  thick  branches  of 
the  evergreens  have  till  now  hidden  from  his  sight.  He  stands 
mute  before  one  of  the  most  charming  pictures  in  the  world. 
A  young  girl  is  sitting  on  the  topmost  rail  of  a  five-barred 
irate.  Her  hat  has  fallen  off,  and  her  golden  hair  is  all  smit- 
ten through  with  the  broad  sunbeams  that  glint  between  the 
sparsely-covered  branches  of  an  ancient  oak.  One  long  curl 
has  escaped,  and  falls  far  below  her  waist.  She  is  the  loveliest 
creature,  thinks  Sir  Tristram,  who  has  visited  many  lands, 
that  his  eyes  have  ever  yet  fallen  upon.  At  her  feet  is  a  good- 
looking  boy  of  some  eighteen  or  nineteen,  on  one  knee,  an  arm 
aloft  holding  a  cabbage-leaf  full  of  big  strawberries.  Another 
boy,  strikingly  like  the  girl,  leans  laughing  against  the  tree's 
trunk.  "Accept,  0  Queen — "  begins  the  kneeling  youth,  but 
at  this  moment  they  all  simultaneously  catch  sight  of  Sir 
Tri>t  ram's  smiling  face. 

The  youthful  gallant  springs  to  his  feet,  red  as  the  straw- 
I  which  he  in  his  confusion  scatters  among  the  long 
grass ;  but  the  girl  sits  quite  still,  only  a  fair  faint  blush 
deepens  in  her  lovely  face. 

"  I  beg  you  ten  thousand  pardons,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  tak- 
ing off  his  hat  and  addressing  her,  "  will  you  kindly  tell  me 


MIGNON.  23 

the  way  to  the  house? — there  are  two  roads,  and  I  am  un- 
certain which  to  take." 

"That  leads  to  the  house,"  she  answers,  pointing  to  the 
road  on  the  right :  "  this  goes  to  the  garden  and  stable." 

Her  voice  is  perfectly  self-possessed ;  there  is  neither 
mauvaise  honte  nor  boldness  in  it,  nor  does  she  seem  to  feel 
any  unpleasant  consciousness  of  the  position  in  which  she  has 
been  discovered. 

His  question  answered,  what  is  there  for  Sir  Tristram  to 
do  but  to  thank  her  and  go  ?  And  yet  he  would  fain  stay. 
But,  finding  no  excuse,  he  takes  one  more  look  at  her  lovely 
face,  and  goes. 

"  Entre  or  et  roux 
Dieu  fit  ses  longs  cheveux," 

he  murmurs,  as  he  wends  his  way  up  the  avenue,  and  ever 
afterwards  when  he  thinks  of  her  those  two  lines  flit  through 
his  brain.  Ere  long  he  comes  upon  an  old-fashioned  house, 
built  in  gothic  style  and  overgrown  by  rank  luxuriant  creepers. 
It  looks  as  deserted  as  a  haunted  castle  in  a  fairy-tale.  The 
front  door  is  ajar,  and  he  enters  without  ringing.  He  finds 
himself  in  a  good-sized  hall,  furnished  like  a  room,  with  heavy 
lumbering  old  furniture,  and  carpeted  with  a  threadbare  Tur- 
key carpet.  Cases  of  stuffed  birds  line  most  of  the  walls  and 
surround  the  ponderous  hat-stand  that  is  now  bare  and  deprived 
of  the  purpose  of  its  existence.  He  opens  a  door  arid  enters 
the  drawing-room,  a  melancholy  specimen  of  the  taste  of 
fifty  years  ago.  The  curtains  are  of  dingy  gray,  striped  with 
faded  green  ;  the  carpet  of  dull  drab  is  ornamented  with  huge 
bunches  of  impossible  flowers  ;  a  heavy  rosewood  table  stands 
in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  on  it  are  a  glass-shaded  basket 
of  uninviting  wax  fruit  and  a  few  dull  books  ;  the  small  oblong 
mirror  that  graces  the  chimney-piece  is  protected  by  yellow 
muslin;  an  ancient  and  high-backed  piano  stands  in  one 
corner.  All  the  furniture  is  solid,  ugly,  unshapely.  Sir 
Tristram  walks  to  the  window  and  looks  out  on  the  deserted 
garden.  He  sees  in  a  moment  its  capabilities  for  being  made 
charming;  he  notes  where  a  glade  may  be  cut  through  yon 
tangle  of  trees,  giving  a  lovely  peep  at  the  distant  common ;  in 
his  mind's  eye,  carpenters,  upholsterers,  gardeners  are  already  at 
work  making  the  gloomy  old  place  into  a  paradise.  He  turns, 
and  crosses  the  hall  to  the  room  opposite.  It  is,  as  he  con- 


24  MIGNON. 

j.vtun-s,  tlic  diriing-room.  If  possible,  it  looks  more  desolate 
.  A  faded  carpet,  moreen  curtains  that  have 
once  been  red,  huge  hideous  mahogany  furniture  covered  with 
worn-out  leather,  some  dingy  old  portraits,  and  a  dark  lookout 
on  a  sea  of  evergreens  that  are  running  rampant  and  un- 
j.niih  .I  at  their  own  sweet  will. 

"  We  will  make  a  clean  sweep  of  all  these,"  says  their  new 
lord  to  himself,  "  and  let  in  the  light  and  air.  Faugh !  it 
smells  like  a  vault!  My  poor  old  uncle  must  have  had 
strange  tastes." 

Ilr  remarks,  however,  with  satisfaction,  that  everything  is 
scrupulously  clean  and  neat. 

A  door  opens  from  the  dining-room  into  another  room  ;  he 
turns  the  handle,  and  finds  himself  face  to  face  with  a  fine, 
gentlemanlike-looking  man.  The  latter  grasps  the  situation 
at  once. 

"  Sir  Tristram  Bergholt,  I  presume  ?"  he  says.  "  I  fear  I 
must  seem  in  the  light  of  an  intruder,  but  Mr.  Tristram 
always  allowed  me  the  range  of  the  library,  and " 

"  It  is  I  who  am  the  intruder,"  returns  Sir  Tristram,  in  his 
jili'iisiiit  courteous  manner.  "  I  dislike  fuss  and  preparation, 
and  thought  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  run  down  quietly  and 
take  my  first  look." 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Bence  will  be  in  a  great  state  of  mind  at  not 
brini:  allowed  to  welcome  you  with  due  state  and  ceremony," 
Bays  the  stranger.  "  She  is  an  excellent  creature :  in  fact, 
she  lived  some  years  in  my  family,  and  it  was  I  who  recom- 
mended her  to  Mr.  Tristram.  I  must  introduce  myself" 
(smiling),  "as  there  is  no  one  else  to  perform  the  ceremony. 
My  name  is  Carlyle — Captain  Carlyle.  I  live  opposite  to  you 
in  a  little  cottage  on  the  common :  you  must  have  passed  it 
on  your  way  here." 

Sir  Tristram  remembers  to  have  seen  a  low  long  house  with 
gabled  roof  and  a  pretty  garden  full  of  roses  and  flower-beds. 
He  likes  the  look  of  his  neighbor,  and  thinks  he  detects  a 
striking  resemblance  to  Miss  Goldenlocks  on  the  gate.  Cap- 
tain Carlyle  has  had  the  same  colored  hair,  though  it  is  liberally 
sprinkled  with  silver  now,  but  his  face  is  fresh-colored,  his 
moustache  chestnut :  in  spite  of  his  gray  hair  he  does  not 
look  a  day  older  than  Sir  Tristram  himself. 

"  What  a  pity  the  place  should  have  been  so  neglected  1" 


MIGNON.  25 

remarks  the  latter.     "  My  uncle,  I  believe,  was  eccentric.     I 
never  saw  him." 

"  Rather  more  than  eccentric,"  answers  Captain  Carlyle, 
smiling.  "  For  five  years  before  his  death  he  never  allowed  a 
stick  of  wood  to  be  cut  nor  a  gun  to  be  fired  on  the  place.  It 
was  a  great  loss  to  me :  I  used  to  shoot  his  game  for  him  before 
that  time.'* 

"  I  hope  we  shall  reap  the  benefit  of  his  eccentricity,"  says 
Sir  Tristram. 

He  has  taken  a  fancy  to  Captain  Carlyle,  and  feels  as  if  he 
had  known  him  for  years.  Captain  Carlyle  receives  the  same 
impression  of  the  new  master  of  The  "Warren. 

"  I  had  a  difficulty  in  finding  my  way  to  the  house,"  says 
Sir  Tristram.  "  I  was  obliged  to  ask  the  road  of  a  young 
lady."  This  is  a  cunning  device  to  get  information  about 
Miss  Goldenlocks. 

"  Oh  !  Mignon,  I  suppose :  my  youngest  daughter.  She 
came  up  with  me  to-day.  Young  puss  !  I  fear  she  has  made 
sad  havoc  among  your  strawberry-beds,  she  and  her  brother 
between  them." 

"  I  hope  they  have  :  they  are  most  heartily  welcome." 

"  Thanks.     Are  you  going  back  to  town  to-night?" 

"Yes,  by  the  9.30  train." 

"  After  you  have  looked  round,  will  you  come  and  take 
pot-luck  with  us  ?  There  is  no  decent  inn  nearer  than  four 
miles  ;  and  I  fear  Mrs.  Bence  will  not  be  prepared  to  entertain 
you." 

Captain  Carlyle  gives  the  invitation  with  the  frank  incon- 
siderateness  of  a  man,  utterly  unmindful  of  the  probable  con- 
dition of  the  larder  at  home. 

Sir  Tristram  accepts  the  invitation  as  frankly  as  it  is  given. 
"Entre  or  et  roux" — the  two  haunting  lines  come  back  to 
him  :  he  has  a  curiosity  to  see  that  golden  head  again. 

"I  am  going  home  now,"  says  Captain  Carlyle.  "Do  you 
think  you  will  have  finished  your  business  here  in  an  hour?" 

"  Thanks,  yes.  I  am  only  going  to  take  a  very  cursory  view 
to-day." 

"  Then  I  will  return  at  six  to  show  you  the  way." 

Captain  Carlyle  leaves  the  house  in  a  very  pleasant,  self- 
congratulatory  frame  of  mind. 

"  Charming  fellow ;    tremendous  acquisition.      I  hope  he 

B  a 


26  MIGNON. 

will  be  here  a  good  deal.  Evidently  a  sportsman.  Glad  I 
happen. -d  to  In-  there  and  thought  of  asking  him  to  dinner, 
vel  I  wonder  if  there  is  anything  for  dinner,  by  the 
way." 

This  arr&re-pcnste  makes  the  current  of  his  thoughts  a 
.shade  less  pleasant.  At  this  moment  he  comes  in  sight  of  the 
•rmup  whom  Sir  Tristram  had  surprised  some  half  an  hour 
earlier.  The  tableau  has  undergone  a  change  now :  all  three 
are  seated  on  the  grass  under  the  old  tree ;  the  scattered 
stnnvhen-ies  have  been  recovered  and  demolished;  nothing 
ivinains  hut  the  discarded  cabbage-leaf. 

H  Well,  I  suppose  you  know  the  news,"  he  remarks,  gayly, 
as  he  comes  up  to  them.  "  Sir  Tristram  Bergholt  has  arrived." 

"  I  said  that  was  him,"  cries  Mignon. 

"  Heedless  of  grammar  they  all  cried,  '  That's  him.' " 

spouts  her  twin  brother,  quoting  from  "  Ingoldsby." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?"  asks  their  father. 

"  Awfully  good  sort,  I  should  say,"  replies  Gerry  Carlyle. 
"  Didn't  look  at  all  like  warning  us  off  the  premises,  although 
he  did  catch  us  in  flagrantc  dclicto  with  his  best  strawberries." 

"  Horrid  old  wretch  !  I  wish  he  had  not  come,"  pouts 
Mignon.  '"We  shall  never  be  able  to  come  here  with  any 
comfort  now." 

"  Mignon  !"  exclaimed  her  father,  sharply.  "  You  have  not 
a  very  ladylike  way  of  expressing  yourself,  and  nothing  could 
be  less  appropriate  than  your  adjectives.  He  is  the  most  charm- 
ing, gentlemanlike  fellow  I  have  met  for  an  age;  and  as  for 
being  old,  I  do  not  believe  he  is  a  day  more  than  forty." 

"  Forty !"  echoes  Mignon,  derisively,  looking  at  her  father 
from  the  depths  of  her  dark-blue  eyes.  "  What  a  juvenile  ! 
Forty  !  Why,  that  is  almost  as  old  as  you,  papa  !" 

And  Mignon  throws  herself  back  and  laughs  d  gorge  di- 
ployie.  As  a  rule,  it  is  not  becoming,  even  to  a  pretty  woman, 
t<>  laiiLih  heartily  and  unrestrainedly  ;  but  to  see  Mignon  laugh 
was  the  most  charming  thing  in  the  world.  It  made  you  rack 
your  brain  to  say  something  droll  enough  to  set  her  off  again 
the  moment  she  stopped.  Her  lovely  mouth  uncurled  as  wide 
as  it  could, — which  was  not  very  wide, — you  could  count  all 
her  lovely  pearls  of  teeth,  and  the  sound  of  her  mirth  was  like  . 
water  rippling  over  little  stones.  Even  her  father  could  not 


MIGNON.  27 

but  forgive  her  irreverence,  seeing  how  lovely  she  looked  as  she 
was  guilty  of  it.  As  for  poor  Oswald  Carey,  the  other  mem- 
ber of  the  group,  he  has  looked  his  heart  away  long  ago. 
Mignon  has  been  sole  empress  over  that  organ  ever  since  he 
was  twelve  years  old ;  and  right  royally  she  uses  the  preroga- 
tive of  her  fairness  in  lording  it  over  him  and  every  one  else 
who  is  under  its  sway. 

"  He  is  coming  to  dine  with  us,"  says  Captain  Carlyle. 
"  Gerry,  run  home,  there's  a  good  fellow,  and  tell  your  mother." 

"  Oh,  papa,  you  are  joking !"  cries  Mignon,  looking  up 
amazed.  "  You  know  it  is  Tuesday ;  and  there  is  never  any- 
thing for  dinner  on  Tuesday." 

"  Nonsense  !  what  do  you  mean  ?"  cries  her  father,  coloring 
a  little. 

"  I  heard  mamma  say  only  at  lunch  that  there  was  nothing 
in  the  house,  and  that  you  would  have  to  put  up  with  bacon 
and  eggs  to-night." 

Captain  Carlyle's  rosy  views  take  a  gray  hue  :  he  thinks  it 
more  than  probable  that  Mignon  is  speaking  the  truth.  As 
usual  with  a  man  when  a  difficult  problem  of  domestic  econ- 
omy has  to  be  solved,  he  waxes  irritable. 

"  I  suppose  they  can  contrive  something,"  he  says,  sharply. 
"  I  don't  know  what's  the  use  of  a  pack  of  girls,  if  they  can't 
turn  their  hands  to  something  useful." 

Mignon  is  the  only  member  of  the  family  who  does  not  stand 
in  awe  of  her  father. 

"  Well,  papa,"  she  retorts,  "  if  we  could  all  of  us  cook,  we 
couldn't  make  the  butcher  invent  a  new  animal  or  kill  on  any 
day  but  Tuesday.  I  don't  see  why  you  should  make  such  a 
fuss  over  the  man  because  he  is  a  baronet.  Why  shouldn't 
bacon  and  eggs  do  for  him  as  well  as  us  ?" 

"  Damn  eggs  and  bacon !"  cries  her  father,  in  an  access  of 
wrath. 

"  He  might  have  had  some  of  his  own  strawberries,  if  we 
hadn't  eaten  them  all,"  proceeds  Mignon,  imperturbably.  "  I 
don't  suppose  you  could  find  a  dozen  more  if  you  hunted  the 
beds  all  over,  Oswald:  could  you  ?" 

Oswald  shakes  his  head.  He  is  quite  the  enfant  defamille : 
there  are  no  secrets  from  him. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,"  he  says.  '  "  I'll  go  off  to  the  butcher 
and  bring  something  back  at  all  events." 


28  MIGNON. 

"  Do,  there's  a  good  fellow  !"  cries  Captain  Carlyle,  relieved. 
"  You  must  In-  quick  about  it,  though,  for  there's  only  an  hour 
and  a  half  to  dinner." 

So  Oswald,  accompanied  by  Gerald,  goes  off  at  full  speed  to 
the  butcher's,  and  Captain  Carlyle  and  Mignon  wend  their  way 
homewards,  the  former's  sense  of  triumph  at  having  the  new 
owner  of  The  Warren  as  a  guest  sadly  impaired. 

Mrs.  Carlyle  and  her  two  elder  daughters  are  sitting  together 
in  the  pretty  little  drawing-room  when  they  enter. 

Mrs.  Carlyle  is  a  faded-looking  woman  with  some  remains 
•  if  In-anty.  Her  eldest  daughter,  Mary,  has  a  kind,  placid, 
Madonna-like  face ;  the  second,  Regina,  is  handsome,  haughty, 
discon  ten  ted-1  ooking. 

There  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  Captain  Carlyle  does  not  waste 
his  breath  unnecessarily,  and  he  is  an  autocrat  at  home.  So 
he  says,  with  outward  peremptoriness  though  a  misgiving 
heart, — 

"  I  met  Sir  Tristram  Bergholt  up  at  The  Warren  just  now, 
and  he  is  coming  to  dine  here  at  seven." 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  in  their  midst,  dismay  could 
scarcely  be  more  vividly  pictured  upon  the  faces  of  the  three 
ladies  to  whom  this  curt  announcement  is  vouchsafed.  Tears 
spring  to  poor  Mrs.  Carlyle's  eyes.  Much  as  she  stands  in  awe 
<>f  lur  husband,  she  cannot  but  feel  a  mild  indignation  against 
him  for  having  placed  her  in  this  cruel  dilemma. 

"It  is  impossible!"  she  says.  "There  is  not  a  thing  in 
the  house.  You  must  make  some  excuse  ;  you  must,  indeed." 

"  Excuse !"  retorts  the  captain,  irefully :  "  you  talk  like  a 
child !  Invite  a  man  to  dinner,  forsooth,  and  put  him  off 
half  an  hour  after !" 

Here  Mignon  interposes. 

"  Oswald  has  gone  to  the  butcher's,  mamma.  He  said  he 
would  be  sure  to  bring  back  something.  I  dare  say  he  will  be 
here  directly  with  half  a  sheep  on  his  back." 

"  Mutton  killed  this  morning !"  utters  Mrs.  Carlyle,  in  the 
accent  of  profound  despair. 

"  Of  course  you  must  make  the  worst  of  everything,"  cries 
her  husband.  "  Upon  my  soul,  it's  enough  to  make  a  man  cut 
his  throat  to  live  in  a  house  where  you  can't  bring  any  one  to 
dine  without  calling  forth  a  waterspout !" 

"  Papa,"  says  Mignon,  who  is  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind, 


MIGNON.  29 

"  I  have  heard  that  if  a  chicken  is  cooked  as  soon  as  it  is  killed 
it  is  quite  tender." 

"  Bravo,  Mignon  !"  cries  her  father.  "  You  are  about  the 
only  one  who  has  a  head  on  her  shoulders.  Go  and  tell  James 
to  kill  one  1" 

"  We  had  the  last  chicken  on  Sunday,"  interrupts  Miss 
Carlyle :  "  there  are  only  the  Dorkings  now,  and  they  are  all 
laying." 

"  One  of  the  youngest  must  be  killed,"  decides  the  captain, 
promptly.  "  We  are  to  dine  at  seven." 

"  It  is  half-past  five  now,"  utters  his  wife,  looking  mourn- 
fully at  the  clock.  "  I  only  hope  Oswald  will  bring  a  neck  of 
mutton,  that  we  may  have  a  dish  of  cutlets  ;  there  is  not  time 
for  a  joint." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Oswald  comes  in,  crimson  and 
out  of  breath.     He  brings  in  triumph  a  basket  out  of  which 
sticks  the  shank  of  a  huge  leg  of  mutton. 
Tableau ! 


CHAPTER  IY. 

"Yea,  and  if  men  have  gathered  together  gold  and  silver,  or  any 
other  goodly  thing,  do  they  not  love  a  woman  which  is  comely  in  favor 
and  beauty  ? 

"  And  letting  all  these  things  go,  do  they  not  gape  and  even  with  open 
mouth  fix  their  eyes  fast  on  her '(" 

Book  of  Esdras. 

MEANTIME,  Sir  Tristram,  unconscious  of  the  woe  he  has 
brought  on  an  innocent  and  deserving  family,  is  calmly  con- 
tinuing his  inspection  of  The  Warren.  Mrs.  Bence  has  been 
made  aware  of  his  arrival,  and  hurries  to  his  presence  in  ex- 
treme trepidation.  His  kindly  manner  soon  reassures  her : 
her  terror  gives  way  to  admiration  of  her  new  lord.  "  The 
handsomest,  affablest  gentleman,  I  think,  I  ever  set  eyes  on," 
she  describes  him  later  to  the  niece  who  helps  her  keep  house. 
"  I  says  to  myself  at  once, '  There's  a  husband  for  Miss  Carlyle 
or  Miss  Regina,  if  they  have  the  luck  to  get  him.' " 

3* 


30  MIQNON. 

"  Captain  Carlyle  was  a  friend  of  my  uncle's,  I  suppose  ?;' 
Sir  Tristram  says,  when  he  has  succeeded  in  stemming  the 
torrent  of  her  apologies. 

"  Well,  sir,  so  to  speak,  he  was,"  she  answers :  "  at  least  he 
was  the  only  gentleman  that  ever  come  to  the  house  of  late 
days.  But  poor  master  wasn't  one  for  friends.  He  seemed 
to  turn  against  every  one  the  last  year,  and  used  to  sit  and 
read  and  mutter  to  himself.  He  was  quite  an  old  gentleman, 
though, — in  his  seventy-sixth  when  he  was  taken.  One  time 
lie  used  to  like  to  see  the  young  ladies  and  Master  Gerry; 
indeed,  he  was  quite  fond  of  him  and  Miss  Mignon  up  till 
about  this  time  twelvemonth,  and  then  he  says  to  me,  '  Let 
'em  come  and  rob  the  garden  of  every  bit  of  fruit, — that's  all 
they  want, — but  don't  let  'em  ever  come  near  me.  I  don't 
want  to  see  or  to  hear  'em.'  Poor  young  things  !"  says  Mrs. 
Bence,  warmly,  "  it's  only  nat'ral  they  should  like  good  things, 
like  all  young  folk ;  but,"  she  adds,  ruefully,  "  if  I'd  have 
known  you'd  been  coming,  Sir  Tristram,  they  shouldn't  have 
been  near  the  strawberry -beds  this  week  past." 

"  I  don't  eat  fruit,"  answers  Sir  Tristram ;  "  and  please  re- 
member that  I  wish  them  to  come  just  the  same  as  usual.  I 
saw  them  as  I  came  up.  There  were  two  youths :  are  both 
Captain  Carlyle's  sons?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Sir  Tristram ;  he  has  only  one,  Master  Gerry, 
and  he's  twin  with  Miss  Mignon.  I  lived  nurse  there  when 
they  was  born.  The  other  was  Mr.  Carey, — Mr.  Oswald 
Carey :  he's  just  like  Miss  Mignon's  shadow  when  he's  at 
home." 

Improbable  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  nevertheless  a  fact  that  a 
faint  feeling  of  chagrin  flitted  over  Sir  Tristram  at  Mrs. 
Bcncc's  last  words. 

"  Are  they  engaged  ?"  he  asks. 

"  No,  no,  sir.  Why,  Miss  Mignon's  not  long  turned  of 
seventeen,  and  she  doesn't  care  two  peas  for  him,  nor  never 
will  for  nobody,  I  don't  believe,"  exclaims  the  housekeeper, 
with  an  impressive  plurality  of  negatives.  "  The  captain  had 
a  sad  disappointment  about  poor  Master  Gerry ;  but  there  ! 
I'm  K-ttin«r  my  tongue  run  on  and  never  thinking  to  ask 
you  whether  you'll  please  to  take  a  bit  o'  something  to  eat ; 
though,  not  knowing  you  was  coming,  there's  not  much  to 
offer.  There's  plenty  of  old  wine  in  the  cellar,  however,  that 


MIGNON.  31 

poor  master  was  very  choice  over.  Shall  I  go  and  get  the 
key?" 

Sir  Tristram  assents :  the  richest  and  least  covetous  man  in 
the  world  cannot  be  other  than  gratified  by  the  acquisition  of 
a  cellar  of  old  wine.  He  makes  an  inspection,  thinks  it  looks 
promising,  and  betakes  himself  to  the  grounds.  "  My  nephew 
has  done  the  gardening  single-handed  the  last  five  years," 
Mrs.  Bence  tells  him :  "  there  used  to  be  four  up  to  then ; 
but  poor  master  got  very  near  of  late  years,  and  eight  wouldn't 
be  too  many  to  keep  it  up  properly  as  a  gentleman's  place 
should  be  kept,  Sir  Tristram." 

"  Well,"  he  says,  pleasantly,  "  I  hope  you  will  see  them 
here  some  day." 

"  I've  lived  here  a  many  years,"  utters  the  worthy  soul,  a 
sudden  dimness  clouding  her  vision,  "  and  I've  got  very  fond 
of  the  place,  but  I  suppose  I  must  expect  to  have  to  make 
way  for  others  now,  sir." 

"  Not  at  all !  not  at  all !"  he  answers,  kindly.  "  We  shall 
see  how  we  get  on.  At  all  events,  you  need  not  trouble  your- 
self with  any  thought  of  leaving  for  the  next  twelve  months. 
By  that  time  we  shall  see  how  we  suit  each  other." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  suit  me,  sir,"  returns  Mrs.  Bence, 
heartily ;  and  Sir  Tristram  nods  and  smiles  at  her,  and  goes 
off  to  the  garden,  where  soon  afterwards  Captain  Carlyle  joins 
him.  Poor  man !  the  debonnair,  jovial  look  has  gone  from 
his  face :  he  forces  himself  to  seem  cheery  and  at  ease,  but  the 
thought  of  the  huge  leg  of  mutton  and  the  ungainly  Dorking 
hangs  over  him  like  the  sword  of  Damocles.  He  knows  what 
is  right — oh,  miserable  unprofitable  knowledge,  curse  of  those 
who  cannot 

"  '  Not  only  know' 
But  also  practise  what  they  know." 

1 

Fain  would  he  charm  his  guest  with  an  elegant,  recherche* 
little  feast;  and  he  must  set  before  him  a  limb  that  only 
yesterday  trotted  across  the  heath  and  led  its  owner  to  "  crop 
the  flowery  mead,"  and  a  bird  that  laid  his  egg  for  breakfast 
this  morning  and  would  have  laid  it  for  many  a  day  to  come 
had  not  his  own  imprudence  sacrificed  it  to  an  untimely  fate. 

Sir  Tristram,  ignorant  of  the  sad  thoughts  at  work  in  his 
companion's  breast,  talks  cheerfully  away,  and  does  not  even 


32  M1QNON. 

remark  the  alteration  in  Captain  Carlyle's  manner.  The  latter 
is  en  lining  over  to  himself  what  excuses  he  shall  make  for  the 
untempting  meal  when  it  is  placed  on  the  table.  He  is  poor 
and  proud,  but  he  has  not  the  pride  that  would  prompt  him 
to  confess  his  dilemma  with  a  frank  grace  that  would  rob  the 
situation  of  half  its  difficulty.  When  they  arrive  at  the  cottage, 
the  drawing-room  is  untenanted.  Mrs.  Carlyle  and  llegina  are 
dressing  for  the  dreaded  ordeal,  Mary  is  assisting  and  directing 
in  the  kitchen,  Oswald  and  Gerry  are  shelling  peas  and  enjoy- 
ing it  as  a  capital  joke ;  even  Mignon  is  gathering  roses  for 
the  dinner-table.  Captain  Carlyle  leaves  his  guest  with  an 
apology  whilst  he  goes  to  select  the  best  wine  from  his  moder- 
ately-furnished cellar.  Sir  Tristram  looks  out  of  the  French 
windows,  sees  Mignon, 

"  one  arm  aloft, 
Gowned  in  pure  white  that  fitted  to  her  shape," 

and  an  exquisite  shape  it  is,  looks  and  longs  for  a  moment, 
then  steps  diffidently  out  and  joins  her.  She  sees  him,  and 
gives  him  an. unembarrassed  smile  of  welcome. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  rose?"  he  asks  her. 

She  is  a  saucy  minx,  and  in  a  moment  she  cuts  a  huge  full- 
blown cabbage  rose  and  presents  it  gravely  to  him.  Then, 
looking  up  and  meeting  his  half-perplexed,  half-discomfited 
look,  she  laughs  her  rippling  laugh  and  with  it  takes  his  soul 
captive. 

"  I  should  prefer  a  bud,  if  you  will  give  me  one,"  he  says, 
smiling. 

"  What  will  you  do  with  it  ?"  she  asks.  "  I  don't  like  a 
man  with  a  flower  in  his  button-hole, — it  looks  like  a  shop- 
man out  on  Sunday ;  and  you  cannot  carry  it  about  all  the  even- 
ing." 

"  I  will  take  it  home  and  treasure  it,"  he  answers,  half  in 
jest,  half  in  earnest. 

"  And  label  it  Mignon,"  she  says,  saucily.  "  By  the  way, 
perhaps  you  don't  know  that  my  name  is  Mignon?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  It  is  an  odious  name,  is  it  not  ? — so  silly,  too ;  and  nearly 
every  one  mispronounces  it." 

^  "  It  is  a  charming  name,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  bethinking 
him  of  a  quotation, — 


MIGNON.  33 

11  The  sweetest  name  that  ever  love 
Waxed  weary  of." 

If  she  had  been  a  woman  of  fashion,  he  would  have  told  her 
the  lines :  being  a  fresh  young  girl,  and,  as  such,  the  incarna- 
tion of  all  innocence  and  purity  to  him,  he  would  have  thought 
it  a  folly,  nay,  more,  an  impertinence,  to  utter  them  aloud  in 
her  presence.  Mignon  trips  from  tree  to  tree,  robbing  each 
with  ruthless  hand  of  its  fairest  children :  crimson,  blush  and 
golden,  snow-white  and  rosy  pink,  are  pressed  together  in  the 
firm  grasp  of  her  small  lithe  fingers,  and  Sir  Tristram  follows, 
watching  her  every  movement  and  drinking  in  her  perfections 
in  charmed  silence.  Nature  was  in  a  happy  mood,  he  thinks, 
when  she  dowered  this  god-child  with  so  lavish  a  hand.  As 
she  stands  on  tiptoe  to  reach  a  crimson  blossom,  Sir  Tristram, 
instead  of  gallantly  bringing  his  superior  height  to  the  rescue, 
is  taking  the  opportunity  to  look  at  her  feet. 

There  is  a  certain  noble  lord  (with  whom  in  this  matter 
my  ideas  are  perfectly  d'accorcT)  who  refuses  to  pronounce  a 
woman  beautiful  until  he  has  seen  her  eat.  Sir  Tristram 
never  gives  his  verdict  upon  one  until  he  has  seen  her  feet. 
The  momentary  glance  afforded  him  satisfies  his  critical  eye. 
Mignon's  feet  are  encased,  it  is  true,  in  shabby  slippers,  but 
they  are  small  and  well  formed.  And  upwards  to  her  shapely 
hands,  her  creamy  throat,  her  dimpled  mouth,  the  exquisite 
upper  lip  and  dainty  nose,  the  long-lashed  eyes  and  white 
brow  whence  springs  an  aureole  of  ruddy  golden  hair,  there 
is  not  one  point  the  ravished  beholder  would  wish  more  perfect. 
A  strange  desire  seizes  him  to  add  to  all  that  nature  has  done 
the  graces  of  art.  He  is  not  a  believer  in  "  beauty  unadorned :" 
he  would  like  it  to  be  his  task  to  put  dainty  slippers  on  the 
little  feet,  rare  stuffs  and  samites  on  the  shapely  form,  to  crown 
the  golden  locks  with  pearls  arid  diamonds.  All  these  thoughts, 
that  take  so  long  to  write,  flash  through  Sir  Tristram's  mind 
in  an  instant.  Unknowing  how  rapt  his  thoughts  are  in  her, 
or  how  flattering  their  nature,  Mignon  is  thinking  meanly  of 
his  powers  of  being  entertaining. 

"  You  won't  mind  my  leaving  you  a  moment,  will  you  ?" 
she  says.  "  I  want  to  take  these  into  the  house ;  they  are  for 
the  dinner-table." 

"  You  will  not  be  long,"  he  asks.  "  You  are  not  going  to 
dress  for  dinner,  I  hope,  as  I  am  in  morning  dress  ?" 


34  M1GNON. 

"Dress  for  dinner?"  she  repeats.  "Oh,  no;  I  am  not 
LT'.ini:  to  dine.  I  hate  dining  late." 

••  Not  going  to  dine  ?"  (in  some  dismay). 

"  No.  Oswald  and  Gerry  and  I  are  going  to  have  eggs  and 
bacon  in  the  school-room.  We  never  dine  with  the  old  people  ; 
we  have  so  much  more  fun  by  ourselves." 

Mignori's  naivete  is  decidedly  of  a  thorny  character;  she 
is  in  the  habit  of  pricking  her  auditors  even  without  being 
actuated  by  any  evil  intent. 

"  Confound  Oswald  !  I  suppose  she  looks  upon  me  quite 
as  an  old  fellow !"  are  the  two  distinct  thoughts  that  flash 
simultaneously  across  the  mind  of  her  interlocutor. 

"  Why  may  I  not  have  bacon  and  eggs  in  the  school-room 
too?"  he  asks. 

"  You  !"  she  echoes  ;  and  then,  apparently  struck  by  some 
intensely  droll  idea,  she  laughs  one  of  her  wonderful,  bewitch- 
ing laughs. 

Sir  Tristram  forgets,  in  his  exceeding  admiration,  to  think 
whether  she  is  laughing  at  him.  He  has  not  seen  her  laugh 
before :  it  seems  to  him  the  most  charming,  fascinating  thing 
he  has  ever  seen  in  a  daughter  of  Eve. 

Whether  saucy  Miss  Mignon  is  conscious  of  this  natural 
and  involuntary  grace,  I  am  unable  to  state :  at  all  events,  she 
does  not  attempt  to  check  her  jubilance. 

"  I  wonder  what  amused  you  so  much,"  he  says,  his  curi- 
osity awakening  as  her  laughter  dies  away. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answers,  smiling,  "  only  papa  was  so  dis- 
gusted with  me  for  suggesting  that  you  should  dine  off  eggs 
and  bacon,  and  you  have  actually  proposed  it  yourself." 

"  Let  me  join  your  party,  may  I?"  he  entreats,  quite  seri- 
ously. 

Sir  Tristram  thinks  as  much  of  his  dinner  (not  more)  as 
most  men  who  have  arrived  at  his  time  of  life,  and  whom  cir- 
cumstances have  permitted  to  be  critical,  if  not  fastidious,  as 
to  what  they  cat.  We  must  conclude  that  by  his  preferring 
to  dine  off  bacon  and  eggs  in  Mignon's  society  to  having  a 
lotiafide  dinner  with  her  parents  (remember,  he  is  not  in  the 
secret  of  the  family  dilemma),  that  bewitching  damsel  must 
have  made  no  slight  impression  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  that  would  never  do,  after  papa  and  mamma  have 
been  making  such  preparations  for  you." 


MIGNON.  35 

When  the  words  have  escaped  her,  a  misgiving  as  to  their 
discreetness  seizes  Mignon,  and  she  takes  refuge  in  flight. 

"  I  will  come  back,"  she  cries,  as  she  trips  lightly  off  to  the 
house. 

Whilst  Sir  Tristram  is  debating  in  his  mind  whether  this 
is  a  ruse  to  get  rid  of  him,  she  reappears. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  pigs  and  the  chickens  ?"  she 
asks,  and  carries  him  off  in  the  direction  of  the  pig-stye.  On 
their  way  to  it  they  pass  a  gate  that  leads  to  the  common. 

"  How  delicious  the  air  is  here  !"  he  says,  pausing  to  lean 
upon  it  and  drawing  in  the  flower-scented  breath  of  the  north 
wind  with  epicurean  enjoyment.  "  I  should  think  the  people 
about  here  never  die,  do  they  ?" 

"Oh,  yes;  they  are  rather  given  to  it;  the  water  and  the 
drainage  are  bad." 

Sir  Tristram  registers  a  mental  vow  to  alter  the  sanitary 
conditions  of  his  property.  Mignon  leans  over  the  gate  a 
little  apart  from  him.  The  "  wanton  zephyrs"  are  kissing  her 
sweet  lips  and  ruffling  the  little  stray  locks  about  her  brow 
and  throat.  The  man  who  stands  beside  her  is  fast  losing 
his  head  over  her  loveliness,  despite  his  forty-six  years,  despite 
its  being  half  an  hour  beyond  the  promised  dinner-hour  and 
his  being  exceedingly  hungry. 

"  You  will  not  let  my  coming  here  prevent  your  going  to 
The  Warren  as  usual,  will  you?"  he  says,  presently. 

"  Thank  you"  (with  a  tinge  of  regret  in  her  voice),  "  but 
of  course  it  won't  be  the  same." 

"Why  not?" 

Mignon  answers  with  characteristic  frankness,  "  I  mean  I 
cannot  go  about  anyhow,  as  I  have  been  used  to  do :  you 
might  come  upon  me  round  a  corner  when  I  least  expected 
you,  like  you  did  to-day." 

"  Suppose  I  did  ?  It  would  not  harm  you,  and  it  would 
give  me  pleasure." 

Mignon  laughs. 

"  Did  it  give  you  pleasure  to  come  upon  me  c  red-handed,' 
as  Gerry  said,  in  the  act  of  eating  your  best  strawberries  ?" 

"  Are  they  good  ones  ?" 

"  Pretty  good  :  nothing  wonderful,"  she  answers,  suspecting 
him  of  meanness  in  her  heart.  Perhaps  if  she  tells  him  how 
good  they  are}  he  will  not  be  so  generous.  But  he  is  thinking 


3G  MIONON. 

that  he  would  like  to  send  her  a  cartload  of  the  biggest  he 
can  procure  from  Covent  Garden. 

"  I  wish,"  he  ventures,  diffidently,  "  you  would  let  me 
brini:  you  some  really  worth  having  when  I  come  next." 

Mignon  acquits  him. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  she  says,  "  but " 

"Do  not  say  'but:'  do  you  care  for  other  fruit,  apricots 
and  peaches?" 

"  I  like  everything  that  is  good,"  she  laughs ;  and,  truth  to 
tell,  Miss  Mignon  is  not  only  gourmet  but  gourmande. 

Meanwhile,  grief  and  despair  are  raging  inside  the  cottage. 
Captain  Carlyle  is  stamping  furiously  about,  girding  bitterly  at 
his  meek  and  distressed  partner:  it  has  been  pronounced  im- 
possible for  the  colossal  joint  to  bear  any  approximation  to 
eatableness  before  a  quarter  to  eight ;  and  at  a  quarter  to  nine, 
punctually,  Sir  Tristram  must  start  in  order  to  catch  the  last 
up  train.  The  host  is  registering  savage  vows  against  hospi- 
tality ;  never,  never,  if  he  lives  to  be  the  age  of  Methuselah, 
will  he  give  an  impromptu  invitation  to  dinner  again  !  Poor 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  though  she  dare  not  say  so,  devoutly  hopes  he 
will  keep  the  vow.  The  captain  has  stormed  once  or  twice  into 
the  kitchen,  where  cook  stands  hot,  flustered,  and  wrathful : 
kind  Mary,  the  peacemaker,  is  striving  to  help  and  to  pour  oil 
on  the  troubled  waters,  llegina  is  locked  in  her  room,  to  be 
out  of  the  way  of  domestic  disagreeables,  as  well  as  to  arm 
herself  for  conquest.  She  is  handsome,  and  dying  to  get 
away  from  home,  and  is  in  no  humor  to  despise  the  godsend 
that  chance  seems  to  have  thrown  in  her  way.  Little  docs 
she  dream  how  her  young  sister's  loveliness  is  making  the 
master  of  The  Warren  impervious  to  the  charms  of  the  rest 
of  her  sex. 

At  last,  at  last,  dinner  is  on  the  table,  and  Sir  Tristram  is 
brought  to  it  by  his  host.  He  has  gathered  from  Migmon's 
unintentional  hints  that  Captain  and  Mrs.  Carlyle  have  been 
at  some  pains  to  do  him  honor,  and  he  is  prepared  with  his 
innate  good  breeding  and  kindness  of  heart  to  make  their 
efforts  a  success.  But,  with  all  his  tact,  he  cannot  help  feel- 
ing disconcerted  (not  for  his  own  sake)  when  the  covers  are 
removed.  Before  the  captain  steams  the  hinder  limb  of  *  co- 
lossal sheep;  in  front  of  poor  Mrs.  Carlyle  is  a  bird  which  could 
remind  one  of  nothing  but  that  antediluvian  biped  the  dodo. 


MIGNON.  37 

Its  ungainly  limbs  are  thrust  in  various  directions ;  in  her 
haste,  poor  cook  has  forgotten  to  singe  it,  and  long  black  hairs 
assert  themselves  through  the  gelatinous  white  sauce  with 
which  its  bony  framework  is  sparsely  covered.  Poor  Captain 
Carlyle  !  the  perspiration  stands  on  his  brow  with  anguish. 
Poor  Mrs.  Carlyle !  she  could  thin  the  white  sauce  with  her 
tears.  Regina  talks  fast,  to  conceal  her  chagrin.  Sir  Tris- 
tram seconds  her  ably,  and  falls  to  with  the  greatest  appear- 
ance of  enjoyment  when  his  mutton,  the  lesser  evil  of  the  two, 
is  put  before  him.  But,  alas!  he  too  is  soon  of  those  who 
can  testify  to  the  truth  of  the  poet's  saying, — 

"  How  far  apart  are  will  and  power  I" 

even  his  teeth,  which  are  as  useful  as  they  are  ornamental, 
rebel  against  the  affront  put  upon  them  ;  they  positively  refuse 
to  meet  upon  this  sinewy  fragment.  He  is  not  to  be  daunted : 
he  swallows  it  whole,  regardless  of  consequences.  Mercifully, 
the  peas  are  excellent.  He  bestows  such  praise  upon  them, 
and  falls  into  such  rapture  over  the  delight  of  having  one's 
own  kitchen-garden,  you  might  have  thought  he  had  never 
enjoyed  a  dinner  so  much  in  his  life.  He  is  so  pleasant  and 
cheery  that  he  almost  succeeds  in  restoring  the  amour-propre 
of  his  hosts.  Virtue  is  its  own  reward :  he  wins  golden  opin- 
ions from  them,  than  which  there  are  few  things  he  is  more 
anxious  for.  Only  one  thing  perturbs  him.  Where  he  sits 
he  can  see  Mignon  seated  on  the  gate  where  he  left  her.  Os- 
wald Carey  is  her  companion.  He  can  hear  now  and  again 
her  ringing  laugh  which  he  is  dying  to  see.  Presently  they 
come  towards  the  house.  A  little  later  he  hears  peals  of 
laughter  proceeding  from  (he  concludes)  the  school-room,  and 
a  savory  smell  of  bacon  makes  him  wish,  for  more  reasons 
than  one,  that  he  could  join  the  party.  Captain  Carlyle,  as 
it  steals  across  him,  thinks  he  might  have  done  better  if  he 
had  not  pooh-poohed  his  daughter's  suggestion  of  bacon  and 
eggs. 

The  second  course  arrives.  Dear  good  Mary  Carlyle,  by 
severe  study  of  the  cookery-book,  has  succeeded  in  transforming 
five  delicious  new-laid  eggs  into  the  consistency  and  appearance 
of  an  old  shoe.  Happily,  the  last  state  of  things  is  better  than 
the  first :  there  is  an  excellent  cheese  and  a  delicious  salad ; 
and  on  these  the  two  men  appease  their  hunger.  Women  never 

4 


38  MIGNON. 

have  any  appetite  when  things  go  wrong,  if  they  are  weighed 
upon  by  any  srnse  of  responsibility. 

The  fly  is  at  the  door ;  there  is  no  time  to  spare.  Captain 
and  .Mrs.  Carlyle  and  Regina  wish  him  a  joyful  good-by,  how 
thankful  to  "  speed  the  parting  guest"  none  knows  but  the 
entertainer  with  whom  everything  has  gone  wrong.  Sir  Tris- 
tram is  full  of  thanks  and  kind  words,  but  his  eyes  are  wari- 
clciinLT  in  search  of  Mignon.  She  does  not  come  to  take  leave 
of  him;  and  he  is  bitterly  chagrined.  As  the  fly  drives  off, 
he  gets  a  glimpse  in  at  the  school-room  window,  where  there 
is  a  li^ht.  Oswald  is  apparently  drawing,  and  Mignon  leans 
familiarly  over  his  shoulder.  Sir  Tristram  unconsciously  gives 
vent  to  a  movement  of  impatience. 

Two  hours  later  he  walks  into  Fred  Conyngham's  rooms, 
where  he  is  expected.  His  friend  greets  him  with  the  usual 
British  salutation. 

«  Well  ?" 

Sir  Tristram  returns  the  usual  British  answer. 

"  Well !" 

"  Is  it  well?"  Fred  interrogates. 

"  Very  well  indeed,  I  think.  I  never  saw  a  place  with 
greater  capabilities  of  being  made  charming,  on  a  small  scale. 
Nicely  situated,  good  house,  very  fair  sport,  I  imagine,  and 
within  an  hour  and  a  half  of  London." 

"  Sounds  well,"  says  Mr.  Conyngham.     "  Any  neighbors  ?" 

"  Very  few,  I  should  think.  I  met  one  at  the  plape.  Very 
nice  fellow  indeed  ;  asked  me  to  dinner." 

"  What  sort  of  dinner  did  he  give  yon  ?" 

Now,  I  should  really  like  to  know  why,  seeing  that  Fred 
Conyngham  is  his  bosom  friend,  the  man  in  whom  he  is  in  the 
habit  of  reposing  all  his  confidences,  even  of  the  most  trifling 
nature,  Sir  Tristram  should  utterly  forbear  all  mention  of  the 
unhappy  failure  of  the  dinner.  Even  when  asked  so  leading 
a  question,  he  only  replies, — 

"  Oh,  not  so  good  as  yours  last  night.  I  could  not  expect 
that." 

"  What  sort  of  aged  man  ?" 

"  Oh,  about  my  own  age." 

Somehow  the  words  jar  upon  him. 

"  Any  daughters  ?" 

"  Three,  I  believe ;  but  only  one  dined." 


MIGNON.  39 

"Good-looking?" 
"  Rather  handsome.     Dark." 

"  Then  you  haven't  met  your  doom  yet,"  chuckles  Fred. 
"  Have  a  cigar  and  something  to  drink.     My  mind  is  relieved." 


CHAPTER  Y. 

"  Oh,  purblind  race  of  miserable  men, 
How  many  among  us  at  this  very  hour 
Do  forge  a  life-long  trouble  for  ourselves, 
By  taking  true  for  false,  or  false  for  true !" 

TENNYSON. 

WHEN  two  young  English  people  (I  am  happy  to  think  they 
manage  these  things  better  abroad)  agree  to  unite  in  a  reckless 
disregard  of  consequences,  and  a  selfish  confidence  in,  or  obliv- 
ion of,  the  future,  by  joining  their  hands,  their  wants,  and 
their  impecuniosity,  the  act  is  glorified  by  the  name  of  a  "love- 
match."  They  are  applauded  by  all  the  young  of  their  species, 
and  looked  upon  with  sympathetic  interest  by  friends  who  are 
not  likely  to  be  called  upon  to  assist  them  in  the  impending 
struggle  to  make  (as  some  one  has  said)  "  what  is  not  enough  for 
one,  enough  for  two,"  or  more  probably  for  half  a  dozen.  Their 
distracted  families  alone  look  at  the  matter  from  a  practical, 
common-sense  point  of  view,  and  refuse  to  join  in  the  hero- 
worship  accorded  by  outsiders  to  the  foolish  young  couple. 
It  would  be  all  very  fine,  they  hint,  sternly,  if  the  aesthetic  pair 
meant  to  live  on  air  and  love,  or,  better  still,  if  the  man  were 
willing  for  his  passion's  sake  to  turn  bread-winner  in  earnest, 
and  his  fair  helpmate  to  cook,  to  wash,  and  to  sew  ;  but  it  only 
means  that,  having  had  their  own  way  and  becoming  rather 
disgusted  thereat,  they  come  back  to  beg  of  their  friends,  who 
are  obliged  in  the  long  run,  however  they  may  grumble,  to  do 
what  they  can  for  them. 

Captain  and  Mrs.  Carlyle's  had  been  a  love-match.  He  was 
a  handsome  subaltern  in  a  marching  regiment,  she  a  pretty 
penniless  girl,  both  well  connected.  They  loved  as  no  two 
human  beings  had  ever  loved  before  (of  course).  Come  pov- 


40  MIGNON. 

erty,  coine  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,  but  let  them  bear 
them  t<i;j« -t  In T.  They  married.  Three  months  later  they  were 
humbly  confessing  their  folly  and  asking  help.  Mr.  Carlyle's 
lather  bought  him  his  company,  Mrs.  Carlyle's  pinched  the 
rest  of  his  family  to  give  her  a  hundred  a  year.  The  condi- 
tions on  both  sides  were  stern :  nothing  more  was  to  be  asked. 
Two  daughters  were  born,  and  then  it  became  necessary  for 
the  dashing  captain  to  sell  out  and  exile  himself  to  a  neigh- 
boring country,  where  provisions  and  education  were  less  ex- 
pniHve  than  in  his  own.  Life  went  pleasantly  enough  for 
some  years  in  the  little  Anglo-foreign  town  among  a  coterie 
of  English  similarly  circumstanced,  when  a  new  embarrassment 
befell  them.  This  time  it  took  the  form  of  twins,  Mignon  and 
Gerald. 

If  at  that  juncture  Captain  Carlyle's  mother  had  not  found 
it  convenient  to  shuffle  off  the  mortal  coil  and  in  doing  so  to 
leave  her  younger  son  three  hundred  a  year  and  a  charming 
cottage,  there  is  no  knowing  to  what  straits  this  virtuous  but 
unfortunate  family  might  have  been  reduced.  Captain  Carlyle 
and  his  family  left  the  cheery  little  foreign  watering-place, 
•where  amusements  and  provisions  were  cheap  and  plentiful, 
and  came  to  lead  a  dull  life  at  the  cottage  on  the  heath. 

Mrs.  Carlyle,  who  was  still  rather  a  pretty  woman  and  had 
been  considered  somewhat  of  a  belle  in  the  little  Brittany 
circle,  had  to  forego  society  now  and  console  herself  as  best 
she  might  with  rose-growing,  worsted-work,  and  looking  after 
her  children.  She  was  a  devoted  mother,  and  wife  too,  for  the 
matter  of  that,  and  only  grumbled  now  and  then.  Her  hus- 
band was  much  better  off.  He  went  to  London  at  least  once  a 
week,  had  his  club,  his  stroll  in  the  park,  his  little  dinners 
with  friends,  an  occasional  stall  at  the  opera  or  theatre.  As 
his  wife  said, — as  all  good  self-denying  wives  say, — "  Oh,  we 
get  on  very  well"  ("  we"  meaning  herself  and  her  daughters) ; 
"  but  a  man  must  be  amused,  you  know  /"  Captain  Carlyle 
followed  this  prescription  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  Being  a 
handsome,  well-dressed,  pleasant-mannered  man,  he  got  invited 
to  country-houses,  shooting-parties,  a  cruise  now  and  then,  or  a 
week's  hunting.  A  good  many  of  his  friends  did  not  even  know 
that  ho  was  married ;  he  did  not  obtrude  the  fact,  though 
he  admitted  it  with  perfect  frankness  when  questioned,  and  in- 
deed could  talk  very  sweetly  about  his  "  darlings  at  home." 


MIGNON.  41 

After  his  mother's  death,  he  held  out  the  olive-branch  to 
his  elder  brother  (their  father  had  been  dead  some  time),  and 
it  was  accepted.  Mr.  Carlyle  used  to  come  frequently  to  the 
cottage,  took  an  immense  fancy  to  Gerald,  and  led  the  sanguine 
parents  to  hope  that  he  would  make  him  his  heir.  It  was 
improbable  he  would  ever  marry :  the  estate  was  entailed,  and 
Mr.  Carlyle  had  what  his  brother  was  pleased  to  call  an  en- 
tanglement ;  that  is  to  say,  there  was  already  a  reputed  Mrs. 
Carlyle,  but,  though  she  bore  his  name,  she  did  not  live  in  his 
house,  and  he  distinctly  and  repeatedly  assured  his  brother 
that,  greatly  as  he  was  attached  to  her,  he  had  not  the  smallest 
intention  of  marrying  her.  He  was  devoted  to  Gerald,  had 
him  constantly  to  stay,  sent  him  to  school  and  afterwards  to 
Eton,  gave  him  a  pony,  taught  him  to  shoot, — in  fact,  brought 
him  up  as  befitted  a  rich  man's  heir.  The  January  before 
this  story  opens,  Mr.  Carlyle  went  out  one  morning  as  usual 
with  his  gun,  and,  getting  through  a  hedge,  it  went  off  and  shot 
him  dead  on  the  spot.  He  left  no  will.  Captain  Carlyle  naturally 
supposed  himself  the  heir :  his  grief  for  his  brother  was  tem- 
pered by  the  sudden  and  unexpected  access  of  fortune.  But  now 
Mrs.  Carlyle  came  forward,  showed  her  "  marriage-lines,"  and 
gave  indisputable  proof  that  she  had  been  Mr.  Carlyle's  lawful 
wife  all  along,  though  he  had  succeeded  in  persuading  her  (no 
one  knew  exactly  why)  not  to  assert  her  claims.  Worst  of 
all,  she  had  two  children,  the  younger  a  boy  who  came  into 
the  property.  The  acrimony  with  which,  in  his  disappoint- 
ment, Captain  Carlyle  contested  the  widow's  claims  and  the 
validity  of  her  marriage,  made  her  a  bitter  and  lasting  enemy : 
so  poor  Gerald,  from  being  a  young  man  of  considerable  im- 
portance with  the  happiest  prospects,  was  now  only  the  son  of 
a  poor  man,  having  great  ideas  and  no  means  of  carrying  them 
out.  He  had  to  leave  Eton,  the  sorest  blow  of  all,  and  had 
been  at  home  ever  since,  waiting  until  some  decision  as  to  his 
future  could  be  arrived  at.  A  nice  bright  young  fellow  he  is, 
of  a  happy  disposition,  and  bears  his  disappointment  bravely, 
being  helped  thereto  by  the  united  love  and  petting  of  the 
whole  family,  who  idolize  him. 

As  Captain  Carlyle,  having  taken  farewell  of  his  guest, 
smokes  his  cigar  up  and  down  the  great  path  in  the  kitchen- 
garden  between  two  rows  of  gooseberry  bushes,  he  finds  much 
food  for  reflection.  Their  new  neighbor  is  a  decided  acquisi- 

4* 


42  MIGNON. 

tion :  he  seems  pleased  with  the  place,  and  may  in  all  proba- 
bility, if  i lie  fancy  grows,  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  here, 
rvm  though  he  has  a  much  larger  place  up  in  the  North. 
Why  should  he  not  take  a  fancy  to  one  of  the  girls?  say 
lli-iiinsi.  Mary  is  too  sedate,  quite  the  cut  of  an  old  maid, 
Mignon  too  young.  Regina  is  handsome,  and  agreeable  when 
she  chooses :  no  one  is  to  know  she  has  the  devil's  own  tem- 
per, and  she  would  probably  keep  it  to  herself  until  after  she 
had  secured  him.  Here  is  an  opening  for  the  fortunes  of  the 
family.  He  seems  a  thoroughly  good  sort  of  fellow,  is  rich 
and  of  an  old  family,  no  doubt  he  would  get  Gerry  a  commis- 
sion or  provide  for  him  somehow,  and  perhaps,  if  he  should 
prefer  his  Northern  place,  he,  Captain  Carlyle,  would  have 
free  quarters  at  The  Warren  and  as  much  shooting  as  he  liked. 
In  spite  of  the  dodo  and  the  tough  mutton,  he  is  in  an  excel- 
lent humor  when  he  joins  his  family  in  the  drawing-room. 

A  fortnight  elapses.  Sir  Tristram  has  been  down  five 
times  to  The  Warren,  and  his  relations  with  the  family  at 
the  cottage  grow  more  pleasant  and  intimate  on  every  occa- 
sion. As  a  matter  of  course,  now,  he  always  dines  with  the 
Carl  vies ;  and,  as  he  is  expected  and  due  notice  given,  the  dis- 
aster of  the  first  evening  is  not  repeated.  He  never  comes 
empty-handed  :  with  his  usual  consideration,  he  is  reluctant  to 
tax  the  hospitality  of  his  new  acquaintances ;  and  his  offer- 
ings are  made  with  characteristic  delicacy.  Sometimes  it  is 
a  salmon  caught  by  a  friend  in  the  Blackwater,  sometimes 
half  a  sheep  bred  on  his  own  moors,  hams  acquired  in  some 
exceptional  way  (every  present  has  a  history  and  an  excuse), 
clear  turtle  from  the  City,  wonderful  cases  from  Fortnum  and 
Mason's,  a  dozen  of  cabinet  hock  for  the  captain,  and  wine 
brought  unsparingly  from  the  cellars  of  The  Warren  under 
pretext  of  tasting  it.  To  Mignon  he  brings  strawberries  such 
as  she  lias  never  seen  before,  so  big  she  cannot  get  one  into 
her  pretty  mouth  all  at  once  though  she  tries,  and  apricots 
and  peaches  the  price  of  which  would  have  astonished  the  reck- 
less young  lady  had  she  known  it.  Mignon  divided  them 
pretty  fairly  with  Gerry  and  Oswald ;  and  of  course  Sir  Tris- 
tram was  immensely  gratified  by  seeing  the  latter  make  four 
mouthfuls  of  two  costly  peaches,  and,  not  aware  of  his  vicinity, 
pronounce  him  afterwards  a  "  good  old  bloke." 


MIGNON.  43 

Mignon  nearly  died  of  laughter ;  and  Sir  Tristram's  serenity 
returned  on  the  spot.  Nothing  in  the  world,  he  thought, 
could  be  so  beautiful  as  her  laugh. 

There  is  no  possibility  of  a  doubt  now  in  any  one's  mind  as 
to  who  is  the  attraction  at  the  cottage.  No  one  could  see  Sir 
Tristram  with  Mignon  for  five  minutes  without  being  certain 
that  he  was  desperately  in  love  with  her.  The  young  lady 
herself  is  perfectly  aware  of  it;  and,  though  she  thinks  it 
'rather  a  presumption  in  this  elderly  man  to  admire  her  so 
freely,  she  tolerates  him  on  account  of  the  nice  things  he 
brings  her  and  the  superior  consideration  his  attentions  cause 
her  to  receive  from  her  family.  But  she  will  persist  in  think- 
ing him  old  ;  the  young  are  very  tenacious  about  the  boundary- 
line  of  youth  and  age.  No  matter  that  Sir  Tristram  looks  as 
he  is,  in  all  the  prime  and  vigor  of  manhood,  no  matter  that 
his  face  has  scarcely  a  wrinkle,  that  his  hair  is  unthinned, 
unwhitened  by  the  hand  of  Time,  that  his  teeth  are  as  sound 
as  a  schoolboy's,  he  is  as  old  as  her  father ;  ergo,  he  is  old,  ridic- 
ulously long  past  the  possible  age  of  a  lover.  She  insists  on 
calling  him  "a  nice  old  thing,"  despite  the  remonstrances  of 
her  family,  and  many  a  time  galls  him  sorely  by  hints  and 
allusions  to  his  antiquity,  which  up  to  the  present  moment  he 
has  never  felt  ashamed  of. 

In  this  little  time,  she  has  twined  and  coiled  herself  round 
his  heart  so  tightly  that  the  unclasping  of  her  would  be  almost 
more  than  he  could  bear,  he  thinks.  He  loves  her  passion- 
ately, tenderly,  with  the  wide  difference  that  lies  beween  the 
love  of  a  boy  and  that  of  a  man  no  longer  young.  The  first 
elements  in  a  young  man's  love  are  the  strength  of  its  pas- 
sion and  its  selfishness :  it  may  be  capable  of  sacrifice,  but  at 
the  root  and  core  the  love  is  for  his  own  sake.  How  often 
has  one  heard  of  a  very  young  man  giving  up  a  woman  for 
her  own  good  !  An  older  man's  love  (I  am  speaking  of  the 
true  love  of  a  true  man)  has  other  elements  in  it.  It  may 
have  all  the  intensity  of  passion  of  the  boy's  love,  but  it  is 
capable  of  a  greater  tenderness  :  it  is  more  thoughtful  for 
the  beloved  object,  more  careful  of  its  welfare,  more  anxious 
for  its  good,  even  though  that  good  stands  between  it  and 
him.  Sir  Tristram  loves  Mignon  with  the  love  that  her  ex- 
ceeding fairness,  her  (to  him)  bewitching  ways,  call  forth  ; 
and  he  loves  her  also  with  the  protecting  tenderness  of  the 


44  MIGNON. 

full-iirown  man  for  the  child.  His  one  idea  is  how  in  the 
future,  should  he  be  so  blest  as  to  call  her  his,  he  can  make 
II.T  happiest  and  most  benefit  her  and  hers.  He  knows  all  the 
family  affairs:  Captain  Carlyle  has  with  unreserved  frank- 
"iifided  to  him  the  difficulties  and  disappointments  that 
have  beset  him  ;  he  even  tells  him  what  he  has  carefully  kept 
i'miii  every  one  else, — that  he  is  at  this  moment  considerably 
embarrassed  by  an  unfortunate  speculation.  Sir  Tristram  is 
rich  and  generous ;  nothing  would  please  him  better  than  to 
relieve  Captain  Carlyle  from  his  pecuniary  troubles  and  to  pro- 
vide for  Gerald  ;  but  between  two  men  in  their  position  a  free 
gift  is  as  impossible  to  offer  as  to  receive :  there  must  be  an 
equivalent.  In  the  minds  of  both  men,  though  unhinted  at 
in  the  most  remote  manner,  Mignon  represents  that  equiva- 
lent. Sir  Tristram  is  the  very  farthest  remove  from  a  vain, 
man.  True,  he  has  been  loved  and  courted  by  women, 
but  personally,  he  feels,  he  has  not  enough  to  recommend 
him  to  a  lovely  young  girl  as  a  suitor.  But  he  has  all  the 
consciousness  that  a  man  of  his  age  and  standing  must 
have,  of  the  power  and  worth  of  his  adventitious  circum- 
stances. All  he  has  to  endow  her  with  is  not  enough,  he 
thinks  (the  beggar-maid's  beauty  made  her  worthy  of  King 
Cophetua's  crown),  but  all  the  same  Mignon  is  poor,  dower- 
less,  prospectless,  and  he  can  give  her  the  rank  and  wealth  that 
will  enhance  her  beauty  and  enable  her  to  know  and  enjoy  the 
full  value  of  it.  He  will  be  no  niggard  with  her,  no  selfish 
jealous  husband ;  all  he  has  shall  be  hers  ungrudged ;  his 
shall  be  the  task  of  giving  her  everything  that  can  contribute 
to  her  happiness  and  enjoyment;  he  will  not  even  ask  any 
return  ;  he  will  trust  her  implicitly. 

Captain  Carlyle's  views  on  the  subject  are  extremely  simple. 
If  Mignon  gets  Sir  Tristram,  she  will  be  a  devilish  lucky  girl ; 
he  is  rich,  titled,  generous,  does  not  seem  to  have  a  fault  of 
heart  or  temper  :  he  will  make  an  unexceptionable  husband. 
That  Mignon  should  regard  the  matter  from  a  different  point 
of  view  never  enters  his  brain. 

That  young  lady,  however,  has  as  much  idea  of  any  marry- 
ing or  giving  in  marriage  in  the  matter  as  of  learning  the  dead 
languages.  She  regards  Sir  Tristram  much  as  Cinderella 
might  have  regarded  the  beneficent  old  fairy  godmother  who 
turned  her  pumpkin  into  a  chariot.  The  idea  of  marrying 


MIGNON.  45 

him  does  not  enter  her  brain  :  when  it  is  put  there,  she  treats 
it  with  profoundest  contempt. 

One  day  Oswald  says  to  her,  in  an  access  of  jealous  rage, — 

"  I  suppose  you  are  already  thinking  what  a  fine  thing  it 
will  be  to  be  *  my  lady'  and  to  be  decked  out  in  diamonds." 

Mignon  is  sitting  on  her  favorite  gate,  digging  her  pretty 
little  teeth  into  a  green  apple  in  default  of  anything  more 
inviting. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asks,  coolly. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  soon  be  Lady  Bergholt,"  he  answers, 
with  a  scowl,  viciously  hitting  the  young  green  shoots  in  the 
hedge  with  a  switch. 

Mignon  throws  her  apple  into  the  air  and  catches  it  again. 

"  You  are  a  donkey,"  she  remarks,  placidly. 

"  Thank  you.  I  dare  say  I  am.  At  all  events,  I  shan't 
be  donkey  enough  to  come  to  the  wedding  :  so  you  may  save 
yourself  the  trouble  of  asking  me." 

Mignon  begins  to  laugh.  The  gate  is  rickety ;  it  will  not 
bear  her  weight  and  the  want  of  balance  caused  by  unrestrained 
merriment :  so  she  slips  down  on  the  grass  and  sits  there 
laughing  until  the  tears  roll  down  her  cheeks. 

Oswald  stands  regarding  her  with  angry  and  most  unwilling 
admiration. 

"  I  do  not  see  anything  so  very  funny  in  the  matter,"  he 
says,  sulkily. 

"  I !  marry  an  old  thing  like  that !"  she  cries,  between  two 
peals  of  laughter.  "  It  seems  very  funny  to  me,  I  can  tell 
you." 

Oswald  looks  at  her  penetratingly,  but  there  is  evidently 
nothing  to  penetrate. 

"  Mignon,"  he  utters,  presently,  "  you  must  either  be  very 
deceitful  or  very — I  don't  know  whether  to  say  silly  or  in- 
nocent." 

"  Say  the  latter,"  she  answers,  taking  another  bite  at  the 
apple  and  making  a  wry  face  over  it :  "  it  sounds  better. 
Or  you  might  say  green  like  this  apple.  Pah  !"  (flinging  it 
away),  "  I  am  sure  you  could  have  found  me  a  better  one." 

"  You  know  he  is  not  old !"  continues  Oswald  :  "  he  is" 
(reluctantly)  "  a  very  good-looking  fellow,  and  what  any  girl 
might  fancy." 

"  She  must  be  rather  an  old  girl,"  retorts  Mignon.     "  Not 


4G  MIQNON. 

old  !"  (raising  her  voice)  :  "  he  is  old  enough  to  be  my  grand- 
father r 

"  llather  a  young  grandfather  !"  says  Oswald,  scornfully. 

"  He  is  thirty  years  older  than  me." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  I  asked  him." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  cool  hand,  I  must  say  !"  remarks  Oswald, 
halting  between  surprise  and  admiration.  "  But"  (jealously) 
"  why  did  you  want  to  know  ?" 

"  Because  Regina  said  he  was  younger  than  papa.  And 
IK-  isn't :  he's  a  month  older." 

"  Did  he  look  pleased  when  you  asked  him  ?" 

"  I  didn't  notice.  Why  shouldn't  he  ?  What's  the  good 
of  being  ashamed  of  your  age  ?" 

"  You  know  he's  in*  love  with  you,"  cries  Oswald,  returning 
to  the  charge. 

"  Of  course  I  do"  (complacently).  "  Any  one  with  half 
an  eye  can  see  that." 

"  And  you  encourage  him  ?"  (indignantly). 

"  To  be  sure." 

"  One  of  these  days  he  will  propose  to  you." 

"  I  hope  so.  I  want  to  have  a  real  genuine  offer.  Some 
girls  have  had  offers  at  fifteen." 

"  So  have  you.  You  know,  Mignon,  I  made  you  an  offer 
when  you  were  fourteen." 

Mignon  laughs. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  had  nothing  to  offer.  That  doesn't 
count." 

"  No !  I  suppose  the  devotion  of  a  faithful  heart  doesn't 
count !"  says  the  poor  lad,  bitterly,  "  unless  one's  got  diamonds 
and  a  title  to  offer  as  well.  And  pray,  when  he  does  ask 
you  what  do  you  intend  to  say?" 

Mignon  clasps  her  arms  round  her  knees  and  looks  thought- 
fully into  the  distance. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  answers,  reflectively.  "  I've  thought 
of  half  a  dozen  different  ways  of  refusing  him  gracefully.  I 
hope  to  goodness"  (with  great  earnestness)  "  I  shan't  laugh  in 
his  face." 

Oswald  looks  at  her  with  genuine  indignation. 

"  You  are  a  heartless  coquette  !"  he  cries,  angrily. 

"  You  got  that  phrase  out  of  a  book,"  she  answers,  coolly, 


MIGNON.  47 

"  You  know  you  did.  That's  just  the  thing  of  all  others  I 
have  always  wanted  to  be.  I  should  like  to  have  dozens  of 
lovers  at  my  feet  and  to  spurn  them  all."  And  Mignon  gives 
a  kick  with  her  pretty  little  foot  at  the  imaginary  lovers. 

Oswald  is  quite  angry  by  this  time, — so  angry  that  he  is 
ready  to  champion  his  rival. 

"  And  you  mean  to  say  you  actually  intend  to  let  him  pro- 
pose to  you,  just  for  the  pleasure  of  being  able  to  say  you've 
had  an  offer  from  a  baronet?" 

Mignon  nods. 

"  Then  if  Regina  wants  to  lord  it  over  me  as  she  used  to  do, 
I  shall  be  able  to  shut  her  up." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven,"  cries  the  young  fellow,  bitterly,  "  that 
I  had  never  seen  you,  or  at  all  events  that  I  could  prevent 
myself  caring  for  you." 

"But  you  can't,"  returns  Mignon,  placidly.  "  The  worse  I 
behave  to  you,  the  better  you'll  like  me :  you  can't  help  your- 
self. Come,  let  us  go  into  the  orchard  and  look  for  a  nice 
apple :  I  saw  one  getting  red  on  one  of  the  high  boughs. 
You  can  climb  up  and  get  it  for  me." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  be  made  a  cat's  paw  of,"  says  Oswald, 
sulkily,  turning  away. 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  she  answers,  putting  a  hand  through  his 
arm  and  rubbing  her  shoulder  against  it  like  a  coaxing  young 
cat. 

He  pauses,  irresolute.     An  inspiration  seizes  him. 

"  I  won't  unless  you  let  me  kiss  you." 

"  All  right !"  says  Mignon,  putting  up  her  peach-like  cheek 
with  perfect  sang-froid. 

Oswald  salutes  it  shyly,  and  then  goes  to  the  orchard,  where 
he  all  but  breaks  his  back  in  getting  her  the  coveted  apple. 


48  MIQNON. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  She  called  me  silly  creature,  and  asked  me  If  it  were  not  one  of  the 
truest  signs  of  Love  when  men  were  most  fond  of  the  women  who  were 
1CU.-4  lit  tor  them  and  used  them  worst?  These  men,  my  dear,  said  she, 
are  very  sorry  creatures  and  know  no  medium.  They  will  either,  spaniel 
like,  fawn  at  your  feet,  or  be  ready  to  jump  into  your  lap." 

Sir  Charles  Grandison. 

NEVER  once  has  Sir  Tristram  mentioned  Mignon  to  his 
friend.  He  knows  quite  well  what  cynicisms  Fred  would  pour 
forth, — how  by  fair  words  and  foul,  by  invocations  in  the 
name  of  common  sense,  by  the  stinging  lash  of  his  ridicule,  he 
would  essay  to  turn  him  from  his  purpose.  And  he  does  not 
mean  to  be  turned.  All  Fred  could  say  would  be  but  spoken 
to  the  "  deaf  adder  who  stoppeth  her  ears,"  and  it  might  cause 
a  coolness  between  them.  Fred  suspects  nothing :  he  thinks 
his  friend  has  taken  a  vast  fancy  to  the  place,  and  that  in  its 
neglected  condition  it  naturally  requires  a  good  deal  of  his 
attention. 

A  month  has  elapsed  since  Sir  Tristram  first  saw  Mignon 
in  the  green  glade,  crowned  with  the  sunlight,  her  young 
lover  kneeling  at  her  feet,  and  the  time  has  come  now,  he 
thinks,  to  put  his  fate  to  the  touch, 

"  To  win  or  lose  it  all." 

He  does  not  much  fear  that  he  will  lose  it,  though  he  does  not 
for  one  moment  believe  that  the  girl  is  in  love  with  him  ;  but, 
from  her  saucy,  unrestrained  manner,  her  apparent  content  if 
not  pleasure  in  his  presence,  he  believes  she  likes  him  well 
enough  not  to  entertain  repugnance  to  the  idea  of  becoming 
Lis  wife,  and  when  the  happy  time  arrives  that  he  can  endow 
her  with  all  her  heart  can  desire,  he  does  not  despair  of  win- 
ning her  love.  He  is  too  sensible  to  have  the  supreme  confi- 
dence of  a  young  lover :  he  does  not  scruple  to  acknowledge  to 
himself  the  value  of  his  auxiliary  circumstances.  The  manner 
in  which  his  oft'er  shall  be  made  has  caused  him  some  sleepless 


MIGNON.  49 

nights  and  a  great  deal  of  anxious  thought.  He  concludes  not 
to  make  it  personally.  It  might  frighten  her,  or  she  might, 
in  one  of  her  wayward  impulses,  turn  the  whole  thing  into 
ridicule,  and  so  pain  him  unspeakably.  He  decides  to  make 
his  proposal  in  the  old-fashioned  manner,  to  her  father.  Sir 
Tristram  believes  himself  sure  of  the  good  offices  of  the  rest 
of  the  family. 

So  he  writes  a  frank,  manly  letter  to  Captain  Carlyle,  which, 
whilst  it  conveys  in  unmistakable  terms  his  affection  for  Mignon, 
speaks  no  less  plainly  of  his  consciousness  of  the  disparity  of 
their  years  and  the  efforts  he  is  willing  and  ready  to  make  to 
surmount  this  barrier,  or  at  all  events  to  reconcile  her  to  it. 
He  begs  that  Captain  Carlyle  and  Mignon  will  take  three  days 
to  consider  his  proposal,  at  the  end  of  which  time  he  hopes 
most  anxiously  for  the  answer  that  will  make  him  the  happiest 
man  in  the  world. 

"  A  handsomer  letter  never  was  written  !"  exclaims  Captain 
Carlyle  to  his  wife  when  he  has  read  it  to  her.  The  mother 
is  intensely  pleased  and  gratified :  she  has  no  more  doubt  than 
her  husband  that  Mignon  will  accept  with  delight  so  splendid 
a  future. 

"  I  see  Mignon  in  the  garden,"  says  Captain  Carlyle,  looking 
out  of  the  window.  "  I  will  go  to  her  at  once.  Lucky  young 
puss !" 

Mignon  is  regaling  herself  on  raspberries  when  she  sees  her 
father  coming  towards  her,  his  face  broad  with  smiles  and  a 
general  air  of  satisfaction  with  himself  and  benevolence  to  all 
mankind  pervading  him.  Mignon  regards  him  inquiringly  as 
she  puts  a  red  raspberry  to  her  ruddier  lips. 

"  I  have  some  wonderful  news  for  you,"  he  cries,  coming  up 
to  her.  "  Guess  what  it  is  !" 

"Some  one  has  died  and  left  you  a  lot  of  money,"  she  re- 
plies, practically. 

"  Better." 

"  Better !     Then  I  cannot  guess." 

"  How  would  you  like  some  one  to  give  you  a  lot  of  money 
without  dying?"  (jocosely). 

Mignon  makes  a  little  face. 

"  I  had  rather  they  died.     They  might  want  it  back  again." 

Her  father  is  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  tell  the  good  news  to 
bandy  words  with  her. 


50  MIGKON. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  being  c  My  Lady'  ?  What  do  you 
say  to  Sir  Tristram  Bcrgholt  having  proposed  for  you  ?" 

Mignon  looks,  as  she  feels,  genuinely  disappointed.  She 
has  never  contemplated  anything  so  uninteresting  and  prosaic 
as  the  offer  being  made  through  her  father. 

"  Well,"  cries  Captain  Carlyle,  "  have  you  nothing  to 
say?" 

"  Yes :  he  is  a  stupid  old  donkey,  and  you  may  tell  him  so 
with  my  compliments." 

"  Mignon  !"  (wrathfully)  "  this  is  no  subject  for  jesting,  if 
you  please." 

"  Jesting !"  echoes  Mignon. 

Suddenly  a  new  idea  strikes  her,  and  she  stands  still  and 
looks  at  her  father. 

"  Papa,"  she  says,  incredulously,  "you  don't  mean  to  say  that 
you  would  let  me  marry  a  man  as  old  as  youl" 

"  Why  not,"  answers  Captain  Carlyle,  angrily,  "  when  he  is 
most  desirable  in  every  way  ?  He  is  quite  a  young  man,  de- 
voted to  you,  and  is  everything,  /should  think,  the  most  un- 
reasonable woman  could  want." 

Mignon's  face  assumes  an  unmistakably  mutine  look.  She 
says  nothing,  but  recommences  her  occupation  of  eating  rasp- 
berries. 

The  expression  of  Captain  Carlyle's  face  as  he  regards  her 
is  not  paternal. 

"  Well  ?"  he  says,  sharply. 

"  Well !"  she  replies. 

"  What  answer  am  I  to  give  him  ?"  (with  increasing  irrita- 
tion). 

"  My  compliments,  and  if  he  will  refer  to  the  prayer-book 
he  will  find  that  a  woman  '  may  not  marry  her  grandfather.'  " 

Captain  Carlyle  utters  a  very  naughty  word  with  great  em- 
phasis, and  goes  off  to  the  house  in  a  rage.  He  has  always 
been  used  to  spoil  his  youngest  daughter,  and  has  not  checked 
her  pertness  as  he  would  have  done  that  of  any  other  member 
of  the  family.  He  feels  an  unpleasant  consciousness  of  his 
inability  to  control  her :  she  has  become  his  master.  A  horrid 
idea  seizes  him  that,  if  she  chooses  to  rebel,  he  cannot  force  her 
to  this  marriage  ;  a  dreadful  misgiving  takes  him  that  she  does 
mean  to  rebel.  He  has  seen  that  mulish  look  on  her  face  once 
or  twice  before,  and  he  remembers  that  it  has  ended  by  his 


MIGNON.  51 

giving  in.  No  one  who  had  seen  her  lovely  smile  could  imag- 
ine how  determined  Mignon  can  look  when  she  frowns. 

Captain  Carlyle  goes  to  his  own  room,  banging  the  door 
behind  him,  and  takes  refuge  in  a  cigar.  Meanwhile,  Mrs. 
Carlyle  has  broken  the  happy  news  to  her  elder  daughters,  and 
they  are  all  sitting  in  joyful  conclave  in  the  drawing-room. 
The  possibility  of  Mignon  refusing  her  good  fortune  is  as  far 
from  their  thoughts  as  it  was  twenty  minutes  ago  from  her 
father's. 

Mignon  comes  in. 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you,  l  My  Lady!'  "  says  Mary,  play- 
fully, going  up  to  kiss  her. 

"  And  me,"  adds  Regina,  half  enviously.  "  What  luck  some 
people  have  I" 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  child  1"  utters  her  mother,  with 
humid  eyes. 

Mignon  stares  at  them  in  wide-eyed  surprise  for  a  moment, 
then  bursts  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  What !"  she  cries,  presently,  "  did  you  too  think  I  was 
going  to  marry  that  old  creature  ?" 

"  Mignon  !"  they  all  cry,  in  a  breath,  but  with  different  ac- 
cents. Mrs.  Carlyle' s  is  one  of  horror,  Mary's  of  mild  reproach, 
Regina's  of  sharp  impatience. 

The  girl  never  heeds  them,  but  continues  to  laugh. 

"  What  a  joke !"  she  exclaims,  again.  "  I  must  go  and 
find  Gerry,  and  tell  him,"  and  she  turns  to  go. 

"  Stay,  Mignon,"  says  Mary,  detaining  her.  Then,  kindly 
and  firmly,  "  My  dear,  I  do  not  think  you  consider  what  a 
very  serious  matter  this  is.  There  is  no  fun  in  it." 

"  Are  you  a  born  fool  ?"  cries  Regina,  tartly. 

Mignon  is  acute  enough  to  see  that  all  her  family  have 
ranged  themselves  on  Sir  Tristram's  side.  She  hardens  her 
heart  and  stiffens  her  neck  and  prepares  to  do  combat  with 
them  singly  and  collectively.  She  throws  herself  into  a  chair 
and  prepares  for  battle.  Her  mother  commences  the  attack. 

"  My  dear,"  she  exclaims,  with  nervous  energy,  "  you  can- 
not surely  think  seriously  of  throwing  away  such  a  wonderful 
chance." 

The  mulish  look  comes  into  Mignon's  lovely  face  :  she 
answers  by  never  a  word. 

Mary  Carlyle  is  a  thoroughly  good  woman,  good  in  every 


52  MIGNON. 

sense  of  the  word,  tender-hearted,  charitable,  unselfish,  un- 
worldly,— the  very  last  person  in  the  world  to  advocate  a  mar- 
riage simply  for  the  worldly  advantages  it  might  bring.  But 
,shu  has  conceived  the  highest  admiration  and  regard  for  Sir 
Tristram  :  she  has  never  seen  a  man  yet  to  whom  she  would 
so  gladly  have  given  her  hand  and  heart,  even  without  the  de- 
sirable adjuncts  he  possessed,  had  Fate  willed  his  liking  to  fall 
on  her.  With  Regina  it  is  the  adjuncts,  not  the  man,  she 
envies  Mignon ;  though  she  likes  him  well  enough.  As  for 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  she  thinks  him  perfect  in  every  way. 

"  Dear  Mignon,"  says  Mary,  who  has  more  influence  over 
her  sister  than  all  the  rest  of  the  family  put  together,  except 
perhaps  Gerald,  "  what  can  you  possibly  find  to  object  to  in 
Sir  Tristram  ?  You  have  always  seemed  to  like  him." 

"  So  I  do.  I  like  old  Hawley  and  old  Jones"  (the  doctor 
and  the  clergyman),  "  but  I  shouldn't  like  to  marry  them." 

"  My  love,"  interposes  Mrs.  Carlyle,  looking  shocked,  "  how 
can  you  possibly  compare  them  with  Sir  Tristram  ?  though  of 
course  we  know  they  are  both  excellent  men  in  their  way.  I 
am  sure  I  should  have  thought  him  just  the  very  man  to  take 
a  girl's  fancy." 

"  But  you  only  look  at  him  with  your  own  eyes,  which  are 
old,  mamma,"  retorts  Mignon  :  "  you  cannot  know  the  least 
how  a  girl  would  feel." 

"  I  have  been  young,  my  dear,  and  I  do  not  think  I  am  so 
old  that  I  cannot  remember  how  I  felt  as  a  girl." 

"  Papa  was  young,"  interrupts  Mignon.  "  You  never  were 
asked  to  marry  an  old  man." 

"  How  you  harp  upon  his  being  old  !"  cries  Regina.  "  He  is 
just  in  his  prime :  there  is  not  the  slightest  trace  of  age  either 
in  his  face  or  figure." 

"  He  is  thirty  years  older  than  [  am,"  says  Mignon,  with 
fire,  "  and  it  is  shameful  of  you  all  to  want  to  sell  me  to  an 
old  man.  I  won't  be  sold !  I  would  rather  sweep  a  crossing." 

"  My  dear,"  interposes  her  mother,  "  how  can  you  talk  in 
such  a  dreadful  way  !  I  don't  know  what  your  papa  will  say 
if  you  refuse  Sir  Tristram  :  he  will  be  quite  broken-hearted." 

"  Broken-hearted  !"  echoes  Mignon,  scornfully.  "  How  will 
he  be  worse  off  than  he  was  a  month  ago,  before  we  ever  saw 
him  ?  I  wish  to  heaven"  (with  angry  energy)  "  he  had  gone 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  or  been  eaten  up  by  bears,  or  mur- 


MIGNON.  53 

dered  by  savages,  on  his  fine  travels.  Papa  broken-hearted  !" 
(her  voice  more  and  more  crescendo}  "if  he  is,  it  will  only 
be  because  he  can't  get  the  man's  shooting  or  wine  or  some- 
thing or  other,  and  it  doesn't  seem  to  matter  to  anybody 
about  my  being  broken-hearted  !" 

Mrs.  Carlyle  is  too  shocked  to  make  any  rejoinder,  and, 
besides,  she  has  never  had  much  control  over  her  youngest 
daughter.  Mignon's  organ  of  veneration,  if  she  has  one  at 
all,  is  of  the  very  smallest.  Mary  is  the  only  person  for 
whom  she  feels  any  approach  to  respect.  Having  lashed 
herself  up  into  a  rage,  she  is  not  to  be  stopped. 

"  I  am  only  seventeen,"  she  cries,  "  not  out  yet,  and  I  have 
been  looking  forward  to  going  out  and  dancing  and — and 
having  lovers  and  enjoying  myself,  and  here  you  all  want  to 
tie  me  down  to  an  old  man  to  mope  my  life  out,  and  all  for 
the  sake  of  his  nasty,  beastly,  horrid  money  !  But  I  won't ! 
I  WON'T  !  I  WON'T ! !  !  not  for  any  of  you,  not  for  all  of 
you,  if  you  worry  me  morning,  noon,  and  night !  not  if  you 
shut  me  up  and  keep  me  on  bread  and  water  for  a  year  !  not 
if  you  kill  me!" 

Mignon's  lovely  face  is  inflamed  with  passion,  but  it  is  still 
lovely :  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  not  lovelier  than  ever.  The 
carnation  is  in  her  fair  cheeks,  her  dark-blue  eyes  flash  with 
immense  brilliancy,  her  quivering  lips  are  pouted  with  scorn 
and  anger :  she  is  a  lovely  picture  of  a  lovely  shrew  !  the 
world-famed  Katherine  never  outdid  her  in  expression. 

"  Mignon,"  says  Regina,  calmly,  at  this  juncture,  "  if  you 
have  attained,  as  I  should  imagine,  the  highest  pitch  of  fury 
of  which  your  sweet  disposition  is  capable,  will  you  listen  to 
me  for  a  moment?" 

Mignon  glares  at  her  sister  in  silence.  Regina  takes  the 
silence  for  consent. 

"  You  said  just  now,"  she  proceeds,  "  that  you  wanted  to  go 
out  and  dance  and  have  lovers  and  enjoy  yourself.  How  much 
of  that  sort  of  thing  do  you  suppose  you  are  going  to  get 
here  ?  You  might  judge  of  that  by  the  immense  amount  of 
dissipation  you  have  seen  Mary  and  myself  enjoy.  Now,  if 
you  marry  Sir  Tristram,  you  can  go  to  balls  and  parties  every 
night  of  your  life,  you  will  be  presented  at  court,  you  will 
have  as  many  new  dresses  and  as  much  admiration  as  your 
heart  can  desire." 

5* 


54  MIGNON. 

"  What's  the  use  of  going  to  balls,  if  I  can't  dance  ?"  pouts 
Mignon,  giving  ear,  however,  to  her  sister's  discourse. 

"  Why  should  you  not  dance,  pray  ?" 

"  I  thought  people  didn't  dance  after  they  were  married." 

"Ah  !"  returns  Regina,  dryly,  "  that  was  in  the  good  old- 
fashioned  days.  Now  the  married  women  dance  and  flirt, 
and  the  unmarried  ones  sit  out." 

"  Regina  !"  cries  Mary. 

Regina  does  not  heed  her,  but  continues.  "  You  have  not 
a  particle  of  affection  in  your  composition,  you  are  very  vain, 
you  care  for  nothing  but  having  your  own  way  :  what  does  it 
matter  to  you  that  you  are  not  in  love  with  Sir  Tristram  ?  you 
would  not  care  for  the  Archangel  Michael  long :  it  is  not  in 
your  nature.  Who  knows  ?  if  you  marry  this  man,  you  may 
be  the  reigning  belle  in  London  next  season.  You  are  lovely, 
as  you  are  perfectly  aware ;  and  if  you  are  rich  and  titled, 
your  charms  will  be  enhanced  fourfold.  It  is  worth  consider- 
ation whether  you  will  be  a  woman  of  fashion,  surrounded  by 
everything  your  heart  can  desire,  or  throw  away  this  chance 
and  sink  into  a  forlorn  old  maid,  or  perhaps  Mrs.  Oswald 
Carey,  with  twopence  a  year." 

"  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey !"  echoes  Mignon,  scornfully,  going 
out,  that  Regina  may  not  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  how 
much  impression  she  has  made. 

"  Regina,"  cries  Mary,  with  righteous  indignation,  "  how 
can  you  talk  to  the  child  in  that  way  ?  It  is  wicked  of  you  ?" 

"At  all  events,"  replies  her  sister,  "  my  practical  remarks 
have  done  more  good  to  the  cause  than  anything  you  have 
said  or  are  likely  to  say." 

"  If  I  did  not  believe  she  would  be  happy  with  Sir  Tris- 
tram, and  grow  to  love  him  for  his  own  sake,  not  for  what  he 
can  give  her,  I  would  dissuade  her  from  marrying  him  with 
all  my  might,  even  if  she  were  inclined  to  it,"  says  Mary, 
emphatically. 

Captain  Carlyle,  after  much  cogitation  and  numerous  cigars, 
comes  to  a  conclusion  about  the  best  mode  of  attacking  Mignon. 
He  takes  plenty  of  time  to  mature  his  ideas  ;  he  even  sleeps 
upon  them.  His  wife  is  forbidden  to  speak  to  him  on  the 
subject.  Mignon  he  treats  with  perfect  kindness  and  good 
humor  :  she  begins  to  think  that  he  has  given  up  the  idea  of 
marrying  her  to  Sir  Tristram.  Regina's  words  have  sunk 


MIGNON.  55 

deep  into  her  breast.  Oh,  if  she  could  only  have  all  those 
fine  things  without  the  husband  !  She  is  not  one  whit  more 
inclined  to  the  thought  of  that  part  of  it  than  before. 

The  next  morning,  Mignon  receives  a  message  that  her 
father  would  like  to  speak  to  her  in  his  study.  "Ah !"  she 
thinks,  "  he  is  going  to  try  again."  And  she  shuts  her  small 
red  mouth  and  marches  into  the  room,  looking  like  a  young 
Corday  brought  before  her  judges,  firm,  resolved,  composed. 

Captain  Carlyle  realizes  at  a  glance  all  he  has  to  contend 
with  ;  and  it  does  not  make  his  task  easier.  Of  one  thing  he 
is  steadfastly  resolved :  nothing  shall  make  him  lose  his 
temper. 

Mignon  enters  the  room,  and,  still  retaining  the  handle  of 
the  door,  says, — 

"  Do  you  want  me,  papa  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear"  (affectionately).  "Come  and  sit  down. 
I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

"  I  had  rather  stand." 

Mignon  feels  morally  stronger  when  she  is  on  her  feet. 

"  Oblige  me,  my  dear"  (suavely),  "  by  taking  that  seat." 

The  blue  eyes  and  red  lips  look  more  rebellious  than  ever 
as  their  owner  obeys. 

"  You  guess,  no  doubt,  on  what  subject  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you,"  proceeds  her  father,  assuming  an  air  of  ease  he  is  far 
from  feeling.  So  much  hangs  upon  this  interview. 

Mignon  replies  by  neither  word,  look,  nor  sign. 

"  It  has  always  been  my  endeavor,"  continues  Captain  Car- 
lyle, "  to  make  my  children  happy  :  in /act,  I  may  say  my  life 
has  been  one  constant  sacrifice  to  their  interests." 

He  keeps  his  eyes  averted  from  Mignon  as  he  utters  this : 
he  knows  perfectly  well  that  humbug  will  not  go  down  with 
her,  and  he  would  rather  not  see,  or  seem  to  see,  the  incredu- 
lous look  that  he  rightly  guesses  is  expressed  on  her  face. 

The  young  are  terrible  critics  when  they  are  not  imbued 
with  much  faith  or  veneration.  Even  Fred  Conyngham's 
face  could  not  betoken  more  cynical  disbelief  than  this  pretty 
young  girl's.  Mignon  is  fond  of  her  father  in  a  way,  but  the 
very  selfishness  she  inherits  from  him  makes  her  more  keenly 
alive  to  his.  She  is  thinking,  "  Great  sacrifices,  indeed  !  when 
you  are  always  going  away  and  enjoying  yourself  whilst  we 
are  moped  to  death  at  home  and  can  hardly  ever  have  new 


56  MIGNON. 

clothes  because  you  spend  all  the  money."  She  does  not,  how- 
ever, utter  her  thoughts  aloud :  she  has  been  brought  up  too 
well  to  break  into  any  open  disrespect  towards  him.  But  all 
the  time  of  his  oration  she  continues  to  make  little  cynical 
inward  comments. 

"  I  should  be  the  last  man  in  the  world,  I  hope,"  he  pro- 
ceeds, with  the  emphasis  acquired  from  a  rtiens  conscia  recti, 
"  to  endeavor  to  influence  a  child  of  mine  against  her  own 
good  and  happiness.  If  I  were  not  assured  that  a  marriage 
with  Sir  Tristram  Bergholt  would  insure  both,  believe  me,  my 
dear  child,  I  would  rather  cut  off  my  right  hand  than  urge  it." 

Here  Captain  Carlyle  turns  his  candid  and  affectionate  gaze 
upon  his  daughter's  face ;  but  such  open  and  utter  disbelief  is 
expressed  upon  it  that  he  removes  it  again. 

"  You  are  too  young  and  inexperienced,"  he  hurries  on, 
"to  know  the  enormous  worldly  advantages  such  a  marriage 
offers  you, — the  means  of  entering  into  society,  the  highest 
society,  the  luxury  which  will  permit  you  to  gratify  your  most 
extravagant  desires,  for  I  am  sure  Sir  Tristram  is  the  most 
generous  of  men  and  would  prove  a  thoroughly  indulgent 
husband."  (Mignon  makes  a  wry  face.)  "  But,  after  all,  this 
is  not  what  I  am  most  anxious  to  speak  to  you  about.  I 
want  you  to  have  some  little  thought  for  others."  ("  Ah  !" 
thinks  Mignon,  "  now  we  are  coming  to  the  point.")  "  You 
are  fond  of  Gerry :  poor  fellow !  you  know  what  a  frightful 
disappointment  he  has  had,  how  he  has  been  made  a  victim 
of  his  uncle's  cruel  treachery,  and  I  am  afraid,  poor  lad ! 
there  is  worse  misfortune  yet  in  store  for  him." 

Mignon  pricks  up  her  ears :  the  one  soft  spot  in  her  hard 
little  heart  is  love  for  Gerry. 

"  Worse !"  she  echoes.     "  What  worse  can  there  be?" 

(1aptain  Carlyle  averts  his  face. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that  I  have  carefully 
kept  from  every  one  up  to  this  time.  If  I  tell  you,  will  you 
promise  to  keep  my  secret  ?" 

Mignon  nods. 

"  I  was  anxious,  as  you  know,  to  get  a  commission  for  him, 
but  could  not  afford  the  expense  of  it,  nor  of  preparing  him 
for  the  army.  I  was  told,  by  a  person  in  whom  I  placed  im- 
plicit confidence,  of  an  investment  that  was  not  only  most 
advantageous  but  perfectly  safe " 


MIONON.  57 

"  And  you  lost  the  money  1"  interrupts  Mignon.  Then, 
sorrowfully,  "  Poor  Gerry  !" 

Her  father  bends  his  head.  "  So  that  I  am  worse  off  than 
I  was  before ;  and  not  only  can  I  do  nothing  for  Gerry,  but 
most  probably  we  shall  have  to  leave  this  place  and  go  some- 
where to  retrench.  As  for  Gerry,  poor  fellow,  I  hardly  like 
to  think  of  it,  but  I'm  very  much  afraid  he'll  have  to  go  to 
South  America." 

"  South  America  !"  cries  Mignon,  a  horrible  pain  gnawing 
at  her  heart ;  "  why  South  America  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  had  an  offer  from  a  mercantile  house  there 
to  take  him  as  a  clerk, — the  only  opening  for  him  I  can  hear 
of. .  It  will  be  an  awful  thing  for  him,  poor  lad,  going  so  far 
from  home  and  having  to  associate  with  men  utterly  inferior 
to  him ;  but  he  can't  stop  at  home  eating  the  bread  of  idleness." 

Mignon  clasps  her  hands  and  bites  her  lip  hard  to  keep  back 
the  rising  tears.  Gerry,  her  handsome,  aristocratic  brother, 
with  his  grand  ideas,  thousands  of  miles  over  the  seas,  home- 
sick, heartsick,  compelled  to  herd  with  low  associates !  She 
walks  across  the  room  and  stands  in  front  of  her  father,  and 
looks  him  through  and  through  with  her  deep,  searching  eyes. 

"  Is  this  true?"  she  says ;  "  or  are  you  only  trying  to  work 
upon  my  feelings  to  get  me  to  do  what  you  want?" 

"  It  is  gospel  truth,"  he  answers,  returning  her  look. 

She  goes  to  the  window  and  looks  out.  A  cold  hand  seems 
to  be  grasping  her  heart :  the  roses  in  the  garden  upon  which 
she  looks  are  blurred  and  misty :  for  the  first  time,  sorrow  has 
crept  into  her  heart  and  made  itself  at  home  there.  Then  she 
turns  away,  and  goes  out  of  the  room,  without  a  word.  Her 
father  does  not  attempt  to  stop  her ;  he  knows  he  has  made 
his  impression,  and  is  content. 


58  MIGNON. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"AnciTE. — Yes,  I  love  her, 
And  if  the  Lives  of  all  iny  Name  lay  on  it, 
I  must  do  so,  I  love  her  with  all  my  soul; 
If  that  will  lose  ye,  farewel  Palamon." 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

"Oui,  elle  est  capricieuse,  j'en  demeure  d'accord  :  mais  tout  sied  bien 
aux  belles ;  on  souffre  tout  des  belles."  Le  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme. 

MIGNON  picks  up  her  hat  from  the  hall  chair  where  she 
left  it  when  she  obeyed  her  father's  summons,  and  takes  her 
way  across  the  common  to  The  Warren.  It  is  so  much  her 
habit  to  go  there  that  she  forgets  to  think  whom  it  belongs  to, 
or,  in  her  indignation  against  its  owner  for  having  placed  her 
in  this  horrible  dilemma,  she  would  probably  turn  her  back 
upon  it.  Her  favorite  haunt  is  a  green  glade  where  are  big 
trees  with  moss-covered  boles  and  wild  flowers  run  riot  in  the 
long  grass.  Mignon  rarely  courts  solitude,  but  to-day  she 
wants  to  think  with  no  eyes  to  watch  her  save  those  of  the 
wild  blossoms,  deep  blue  and  tender  pink,  gold-colored  and 
starry  white.  The  little  Scotch  terrier,  seeing  her  go  out 
alone,  has  followed  to  take  care  of  her ;  but  he  is  not  intru- 
sive nor  inquisitive ;  he  lies  down  at  a  little  distance,  with  his 
nose  between  his  paws  and  one  eye  open  ;  he  wishes  it  to  be 
distinctly  understood  that  he  has  not  come  to  pry,  but  is  only 
in  attendance  in  case  of  being  wanted.  Dogs  have  a  delicate 
way  of  "  effacing  themselves"  that  their  superior  (?)  masters 
might  now  and  then  copy  with  advantage. 

Mignon  throws  herself  down  on  the  warm,  scented  grass,  and 
leans  her  head  against  one  of  the  great  velvety  boles.  She  is 
thinking  of  Gerry.  In  her  mind's  eye,  she  sees  him  in  a  big 
ship,  ploughing  the  deep,  sick,  lonely,  heart-broken.  Gerry, 
so  refined,  "  the  little  swell"  as  he  had  been  christened  by  his 
companions,  cut  off"  from  all  that  was  pleasant  or  worth  having 
in  life.  Gerry,  whose  one  idea  was  to  be  a  soldier,  to  be  shut 
up  in  a  horrid  counting-house  with  low  clerks.  Mignon  has 
the  supreme  contempt  for  trade  that  most  children  of  poor 


MIGNON.  59 

soldiers  entertain.  And  it  lies  in  her  power  to  avert  this  griev- 
ous future  for  him  and  to  replace  it  by  one  as  delightful  and 
glorious  as  only  young  day-dreamers  can  conceive.  But  at 
what  a  cost !  Mignon  shudders.  She  is,  as  I  have  said,  sel- 
fish :  the  beauty  of  self-sacrifice  is  a  sealed  book  to  her.  Then 
Regina's  words  come  back  to  her,  and  she  pictures  herself  a 
queen  of  beauty,  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  (she  has  always 
craved  for  admiration),  wealth  unbounded,  unlimited  (of  this, 
having  no  experience,  her  views  are  very  vague,  not  to  say 
Oriental).  She  may  save  Gerry  and  open  fairy-land  to  herself 
at  one  stroke.  But  the  husband  !  horrid  thought !  He  might 
die,  though.  Sir  Tristram  would  feel  highly  delighted  and 
flattered,  no  doubt,  could  he  be  aware  of  what  is  passing  in  the 
mind  of  his  young  love. 

"  Yonnie  !  Yonnie  !"  Mignon  hears  herself  called  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  terrier  pricks  up  his  ears.  It  is  Gerald,  who  still 
calls  her  by  the  name  his  baby-lips  first  lisped.  "  Yonnie  ! 
Yonnie  !"  cries  the  voice,  coming  nearer,  and  Mignon  answers 
it  by  a  good,  ringing,  most  unladylike  "  Hullo  !" 

"  You  little  pig  !"  he  cries,  coming  up  breathless,  "  you've 
stolen  a  march  upon  me  and  been  after  those  gooseberries." 

"  /  haven't"  cries  Mignon,  stung  to  indignation  by  the  base 
^accusation.  "  I  never  thought  of  them." 

"  Oh,  all  right !"  he  answers,  throwing  himself  down  full 
length  on  the  grass  and  permitting  the  terrier  to  pay  him  the 
delicate  attention  of  licking  his  nose. 

Mignon  looks  at  the  bonnie  golden  head  lying  on  the  grass, 
and  thinks  again  of  the  deep  sea  and  the  counting-house,  and 
her  soul  is  troubled  within  her. 

"  Gerry,"  she  says,  presently,  "  how  would  you  like  to  go  to 
South  America?" 

"  I  shouldn't  mind,"  he  answers,  nonchalantly.  "  Hi !  good 
dog,  fetch  him  out!  fetch  him  out!"  as  he  and  the  terrier 
catch  sight  simultaneously  of  a  little  white  tuft  bobbing  up  and 
down  among  the  bracken.  Pepper,  undeterred  by  the  recol- 
lection of  many  futile  chases,  dashes  off  ventre  a  terre.  "  You 
get  stunning  sport  there." 

"  I  don't  mean  for  sport,"  says  Mignon,  forgetful  or  regard- 
less of  her  father's  injunction  for  secrecy.  "  I  mean,  to  go  and 
be  a  clerk  in  a  merchant's  house  there." 

"  What !"  cries  Gerald,  a  red  flush  coming  to  his  face,  as  he 


60  MIONON. 

raises  himself  on  one  elbow  to  look  at  Mignon.  A  horrid  sus- 
picion smites  him  that  she  is  not  joking. 

She  repeats  the  question  coolly. 

"  What  1  go  into  a  beastly  office  with  a  lot  of  horrid  cads! 
What  rot  you  talk,  Mignon  I"  (angrily). 

"  I  am  not  talking  rot,"  she  replies.  Then,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  which  would  you  rather  ? — be  out  in  South  America 
miserable,  as  of  course  you  would  be,  and  know  that  I  was 
happy  at  home,  or  get  your  commission  and  lead  a  jolly  life 
such  as  you've  looked  forward  to,  and  let  me  be  miserable?" 

An  inkling  of  her  meaning  comes  to  him,  but  he  makes  no 
answer,  only  waits  to  hear  more. 

"Well?"  she  says. 

"  When  you  explain  yourself,  I  will  answer  you." 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  How  dull  you  must  be  !  Sir  Tristram 
wants  to  marry  me.  If  I  consent,  he  will  buy  you  a  commis- 
sion and  start  you  in  life,  and  I  shall  be  wretched.  If  I  refuse 
(papa  has  been  speculating  and  losing  money),  you  will  have 
to  go  to  South  America  and  earn  your  living.  He  told  me  so." 

Gerald  looks  at  his  sister's  golden  head  lying  against  the 
dark  tree-trunk,  and  away  into  the  distance  where  the  sunlight 
lies  in  a  great  flood  upon  the  open.  He  looks,  but  does  not 
see  the  sunshine  :  all  seems  very  dark  and  bitter  to  him. 

He  is  a  good-hearted  lad:  though  he  is  like  Mignon  in  face, 
he  does  not  share  her  selfish  disposition :  in  character  he  is 
like  his  mother,  as  she  is  like  her  father. 

Mignon  watches  him.  He  is  deep  in  thought ;  his  lip 
quivers,  his  hand  clutches  the  flower-strewn  grass,  his  eyes  have 
a  sightless,  far-off  look.  Pepper  has  come  back  from  his 
fruitless  hunt,  breathless  and  panting,  and  is  trying  to  enlist 
his  young  master's  sympathy :  but  Gerald  does  not  notice  him. 

After  a  time,  the  lad  lifts  his  blonde  head  and  looks  at  his 
sister. 

"  He  is  too  old  for  you,  but  he  is  a  good  fellow.  Could 
you  not  like  him,  Yonnie?" 

"  Ah!"  says  Mignon,  bitterly,  "you  are  like  all  the  rest  of 
them.  You  would  sell  me  too." 

"  No,  no,  no  !"  he  cries,  springing  up  and  putting  his  arms 
round  her ;  "  that  I  would  »ot.  Don't  think  about  me, 
Yonnie  dear.  He  is  too  old;  it  would  be  a  shame:  you 
shan't  make  any  sacrifice  for  me,  I  swear.  I  can  earn  my 


MIGNON.  61 

bread  somehow  without  turning  clerk.  Why,  I'd  sooner  go 
as  a  private  into  a  cavalry  regiment :  lots  of  gentlemen  have 
done  it  before  me." 

Mignon  looks  at  his  flushed,  noble  face  :  some  strange 
emotion  seizes  her ;  she  flings  her  arms  round  his  neck  and 
bursts  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

Gerry  has  never  seen  her  cry  before,  except  in  spite  or 
anger ;  not  often  then.  He  is  dreadfully  distressed,  and  does 
all  he  can  think  of  to  soothe  her. 

"  Yonnie !  dear,  darling  little  Yonnie,  don't  cry !  they  shan't 
marry  you  to  him !  no  one  shall  vex  or  hurt  you  while  I'm 
by!" 

All  this  adds  fuel  to  the  fire,  or  rather  water  to  the  fountain, 
for  it  makes  Mignon  cry  more  than  ever.  When  people  who 
are  not  used  to  the  melting  mood  give  way  to  tears,  it  is  a  very 
serious  affair.  Pepper  is  distressed  beyond  measure :  he  looks 
from  one  to  the  other  and  wags  his  tail  inquiringly,  not  know- 
ing whose  part  to  take,  or  whether  he  is  called  upon  to  defend 
them  both  against  some  common  foe. 

After  a  time  Mignon  recovers  herself  and  begins  to  smile 
through  her  tears.  She  is  not  so  pretty  when  she  cries  as 
when  she  laughs,  but  nothing  in  the  world  could  make  her 
face  ugly :  it  is  only  less  beautiful. 

"  Let  us  come  and  eat  the  gooseberries,"  she  says,  rising, 
"  or  the  workmen  will  get  them." 

She  says  no  more  about  Sir  Tristram,  only  enjoins  her 
brother  to  strict  secrecy  on  the  subject.  In  the  afternoon  she 
seeks  out  Regina  and  puts  various  questions  to  her  as  to  the 
sort  of  life  she  may  expect  to  lead  if  she  becomes  Lady  Berg- 
holt.  Regina  makes  the  most  of  the  opportunity,  and  draws 
such  pictures  of  society,  gay  doings,  Opera  boxes,  diamonds, 
fair  apparel,  carriages  and  horses,  servants  and  houses,  that 
Mignon,  dazzled,  begins  to  think  there  may  be  more  compen- 
sation for  her  sacrifice  than  the  approval  of  her  own  conscience 
and  Gerry's  gratitude. 

That  evening  she  announces  to  Captain  Carlyle  her  intention 
of  accepting  Sir  Tristram. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear,  dearest  child !"  cries  the  delighted 
father,  advancing  in  an  access  of  paternal  affection  to  embrace 
her. 

Mignon  puts  up  both  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  repulsion. 
6 


62  MIGNON. 

"  No,  no !"  she  says,  with  an  accent  of  the  liveliest  emotion : 
"  do  not  come  near  me  !  do  not  touch  me  !" 

Captain  Carlyle  refrains  himself.  She  must  not  be  agitated 
under  any  circumstances,  he  thinks. 

"  I  accept  him  on  one  condition,"  she  says ;  "on  one  condi- 
tion only.  You  will  go  and  see  him, — writing  won't  do, — and 
you  will  tell  him  that  I  don't  care  two  straws  about  him,  and 
that  I  never  shall.  Tell  him  that  I  am  going  to  marry  him 
entirely  on  Gerry's  account,  and  if  he  likes  to  have  me  after 
that,  he  can,  but  I  shall  think  precious  little  of  him.  Do  you 
promise  me  on  your  word  of  honor  to  tell  him  every  word  I 
have  said  ?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  if  you  wish  it." 

"On  your  honor?" 

"  On  my  honor." 

Therewith  Mignon  turns  and  goes  out,  and  Captain  Carlyle, 
radiant  with  triumph,  begins  to  consider  how  he  can  keep  his 
word  to  Mignon  and  yet  give  an  answer  to  Sir  Tristram  which 
shall  not  affront  him.  He  knows  quite  well  that  if  he  gives 
her  message  verbatim  he  will  never  have  the  baronet  for  his 
son-in-law. 

The  following  morning  he  starts  joyously  on  his  errand, 
having  first  telegraphed  to  Sir  Tristram  to  announce  his  visit. 

The  latter  is  in  a  fever  of  anxiety.  A  thousand  times  has 
he  cursed  his  own  folly  for  giving  Mignon  three  days  to  make 
up  her  mind :  he  has  undergone  torments,  expecting  a  letter 
by  every  post,  and  going  from  the  hotel  to  his  club,  his  club 
back  to  the  hotel,  to  see  if  one  has  arrived.  Why  should 
they  keep  him  in  this  agonizing  suspense?  if  the  answer  is 
favorable,  Captain  Carlyle  might  have  sent  it  at  once  ;  if  not, 
there  is  all  the  more  reason  for  not  delaying.  He  dares  not  go 
near  Mr.  Conyngham  ;  he  is  so  restless  he  feels  sure  he  should 
betray  himself,  so  he  makes  an  excuse  and  keeps  out  of  his 
way.  He  receives  Captain  Carlyle's  telegram  with  immense 
satisfaction  ;  and  yet  he  knows  not  whether  to  augur  well  or 
ill  from  his  seeking  a  personal  interview.  His  anxiety  is  at 
an  end  when  Mignon's  father,  coming  into  the  room,  grasps 
him  by  the  hand,  and,  with  joyful  emotion,  greets  him  as  a 
future  and  honored  member  of  his  family.  A  knot  rises  in 
Sir  Tristram's  throat :  he  cannot  speak  for  a  moment,  the 
relief  is  so  great :  he  can  only  grasp  Captain  CarJyle's  hand 


MIGNON.  63 

with  a  firm,  true  clasp,  vowing  in  his  heart  to  be  all  a  father 
can  desire,  to  his  child. 

The  hardest  part  of  Captain  Carlyle's  task  is  taken  from 
him  by  Sir  Tristram's  generosity.  He  speaks  almost  at  once 
of  his  intentions  with  regard  to  Gerald.  He  is  Mignon's  twin 
brother,  he  looks  upon  him  as  part  of  her.  Sir  Tristram's 
dearest  wish  is  to  provide,  for  his  future  as  well  as  for  Mig- 
non's. Captain  Carlyle  is  really  touched :  how  can  he  deliver 
the  conditions  under  which  Mignon's  consent  has  been  given? 
He  hesitates,  hums  and  hahs.  Sir  Tristram,  who  is  extremely 
sensitive,  sees  there  is  something  more  to  be  said,  and  half 
surmises  its  nature. 

"  Mignon  has  the  highest  regard  for  you,"  begins  the  un- 
happy father,  at  last,  dashing  at  his  subject,  "  but  of  course 
she  is  very  young, — a  mere  child, — and  you,  you  will  not 
expect  too  much  of  her  at  first." 

Sir  Tristram  feels  a  pain  shoot  through  his  heart :  it  is  the 
first  taste  of  the  dregs  of  this  sweet  cup. 

"  Of  course,"  he  says,  hurriedly,  "  I  know  I  am  very  much 
older  than  she  is.  I  cannot  hope  to  inspire  any  ardent  feeling 
in  her  all  at  once  ;  but — but  if  I  thought  my  devotion  would 
not  ultimately  win  a  return  from  her,  I — I — nothing  would 
induce  me  to  seek  her  hand." 

"  It  will ;  it  will.  I  have  not  a  doubt  of  it.  All  I  meant 
to  hint  was  that  she  is  very  young  and  innocent  and  wayward ; 
we  have  spoilt  her  sadly,  I  fear.  I  want  to  put  you  on  your 
guard  :  you  have  seen  her  wilful  ways,  you  know  what  she  is; 
I  mean,  if  she  appeal's  cold  or  shy  or  strange  at  first,  you  will 
not  be  vexed  or  offended " 

"  Of  course  not ;  of  course  not,"  Sir  Tristram  answers,  the 
pain  at  his  heart  growing  deeper  and  deeper.  "  But  let  me 
ask  you  one  question.  Has  any  pressure  of  any  kind  been 
put  on  your  daughter  to  induce  her  to  accept  me  ?" 

"  No,  I  assure  you.  Your  offer  was  put  before  her ;  she 
took  time  to  consider  it,  and  gave  me  her  answer  last  night." 

"  And  she  is  quite  willing  to  marry  me?" 

"  Quite  willing." 

"  On  your  word  of  honor  ?  Forgive  me ;  but  this  is  a  very 
serious  matter." 

"  On  my  word  of  honor." 

Sir  Tristram  is  perforce  satisfied,  but  his  heart  is  not  so  light 


64  MIGNON. 

as  he  would  have  thought  it  needs  must  be,  starting  with 
Million's  father  for  the  cottage  as  her  accepted  lover. 

Mrs.  Carlyle  and  her  elder  daughters  have  spent  the  morn- 
iiiL'  in  entreating  Mignon  to  receive  Sir  Tristram  in  a  proper 
and  becoming  way.  Kegina's  argument  as  usual  makes  the 
most  impression. 

"  If  you  look  black  at  him  and  treat  him  as  if  you  did  not 
care  for  him,  he  is  just  the  sort  of  man  to  give  you  up  there 
and  then ;  and  then  good-by  to  all  the  fine  future  we  have 
been  talking  about." 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Mignon,  in  her  room,  hears  the  sound 
of  wheels  at  the  gate.  Looking  out,  she  sees  two  figures,  and 
concludes  that  her  martyrdom  has  commenced.  She  feels  an 
unreasoning  hatred  of  Sir  Tristram ;  but  for  Regina's  hint, 
she  would  go  to  meet  him  with  a  sullen  frown ;  but  she  is 
afraid,  both  for  her  own  sake  and  for  Gerry's.  She  will  not 
smooth  her  hair  nor  try  to  make  herself  more  fair ;  on  the 
contrary,  she  elects  to  go  down  with  ruffled  locks  and  dress 
thrown  on  anyhow.  But  he  never  remarks  it ;  he  is  fighting 
with  his  fears  and  nervousness ;  he  longs  to  take  his  beautiful 
darling  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her,  but  dares  not.  Mindful  of 
her  father's  hint,  he  trembles  lest  he  should  alarm  or  disgust 
her.  So,  when  she  enters,  he  goes  towards  her,  takes  her  re- 
luctant hand,  kisses  it  with  a  noble  courtesy,  and  says, — 

"  You  have  made  me  very  happy." 

Mignon  is  relieved.  A  horrible  suspicion  has  possessed  her 
all  the  day  that  he  will  want  to  kiss  her ;  and  she  is  so  grateful 
for  his  forbearance  that  she  smiles  quite  graciously  upon  him. 

"  Believe  me,"  he  utters,  fervently,  "  that  anything,  every- 
thing in  the  world  I  can  do  to  win  your  love  and  further  your 
happiness  I  will  do." 

Here  is  a  golden  opportunity.  Mignon  has  not  a  delicate 
mind  :  she  grasps  it. 

"  Will  you  get  Gerry  his  commission  ?"  she  asks. 

"  Everything  that  I  would  do  for  my  own  brother,  if  I  had 
one,  I  will  do  for  him,"  Sir  Tristram  answers,  heartily,  pained 
nevertheless  that  this  element  of  bargaining  should  be  intro- 
duced so  quickly  into  his  romance. 

"  And — and — "  (Mignon  has  the  grace  to  hesitate  this  time) 
"  will  you  let  me  do  just  as  I  like,  and  go  to  balls  and  theatres 
and  dance?" 


MIGNON.  65 

"  You  shall  do  and  have  everything  you  can  desire  as  far  as 
it  lies  in  my  power,"  he  answers,  the  pain  growing  ever  deeper. 
"Will  you  trust  me?" 

Mignon  nods. 

"  Let  us  go  out,"  she  says  :  "  it  is  too  fine  to  stop  in-doors." 
And  he  assents,  with  a  vague  feeling  of  disappointment. 

"  Shall  we  go  to  The  Warren  ?"  he  says,  and,  Mignon  being 
agreeable,  they  start  together.  All  the  way  the  vain  young 
puss  is  stealing  furtive  glances  at  her  little  hand,  upon  which 
big  diamonds  are  flashing.  They  are  the  first  token  of  glories 
to  come. 

When  Sir  Tristram  returns  to  town  that  evening,  he  goes 
straight  to  Fred  Conyngham's  rooms.  His  friend  is  not  there, 
— is  dining  out,  his  servant  says.  Sir  Tristram  sits  down  to 
await  his  return  j  he  has  plenty  of  food  for  reflection  to  occupy 
him  meantime.  An  hour  elapses  before  he  hears  Fred's  step 
on  the  stairs ;  a  moment  later  he  enters. 

"  At  last !"  he  exclaims.  "  I  began  to  imagine  you  were  lost, 
and  had  serious  thoughts  of  advertising  for  you  in  the  '  agony 
column.'  Have  you  been  '  in  search  of  a  wife,'  in  imitation 
of  Mrs.  Hannah  More's  interesting  hero?" 

"I  have  not  only  been  in  search  of  but  have  found  her," 
answers  Sir  Tristram.  "  I  suppose  it  would  be  adding  insult 
to  injury  to  ask  your  congratulations?" 

Fred  utters  a  deep-drawn  sigh.  "  /  congratulate  you  ?"  he 
says,  in  a  melancholy  tone.  "  Never  !  but  I  will  mingle  my 
tears  with  yours  when  the  time  comes  for  it,  poor  old  boy ! 
Well"  (throwing  himself  into  a  chair  with  a  still  deeper  sigh), 
"  begin  your  rhapsodies  !  get  through  them  as  quickly  as  you 
can.  Or  stay !  let  me  guess.  The  adored  object  is  a  child, 
your  ideal  seventeen ;  she  is  as  beautiful  as  an  angel,  and  she 
has  not  a  penny  to  her  fortune." 

"  Who  told  you?"  cries  Sir  Tristram,  eagerly. 

"  No  one !  it  was  a  pure  guess  on  my  part.  And  pray" 
(looking  fixedly  at  his  friend),  "  is  she  fond  of  you?" 

The  color  deepens  in  Sir  Tristram's  cheek ;  he  has  never 
told  a  lie  in  his  life. 

"I  hope  to  make  her  so." 

"  Oh  !"  says  Fred,  not  removing  his  shrewd  eyes  from  his 
friend's  face.  "  And  is  she  going  to  marry  you  of  her  own  free 
will,  or  has  she  been  urged  to  it  by  her  family  ?"  ' 

6* 


66  MIONON. 

"  Of  her  own  free  will." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  utters  Fred.  "  She  must  be  hearC- 
li-.-s  and  mercenary.  It  is  unnatural  for  seventeen  to  marry  a 
man  it  is  not  fond  of,  of  its  own  free  will.  Is  she  town-bred 
or  country-bred  ?" 

"  Country,"  answers  Sir  Tristram,  shortly.  "  She  is  fresh 
and  innocent  as  a  daisy ;  I — I  believe  she  does  like  me,  but 

she  has  little  wilful,  teasing  ways,  and Fred"  (hotly),  "  I 

take  it  as  very  unfriendly  on  your  part  to  say  these  things. 
You  perhaps  do  not  think  how  you  hurt  me  with  your  caustic 
speech." 

Fred  jumps  up  and  holds  out  his  hand. 

"  Dear  old  Tristram,"  he  says,  heartily,  "  forgive  me.  I  am 
a  brutal  old  Diogenes,  and  only  fit  for  a  tub.  If  my  tongue  is 
rough  and  bitter,  you  know  my  heart  wishes  nothing  better 
than  to  see  the  lie  given  to  its  prognostications.  There !  I 
have  had  my  little  spiteful  say,  and  I  wish  you  all  the  joy  life 
can  give  with  your  lovely  little  country  rose;  she  must  be 
charming  indeed  if  I  ever  get  to  think  her  half  good  enough 
for  you." 

And  so  the  friends  clasp  hands,  with  hearty  sympathy  on 
one  side  and  hearty  forgiveness  on  the  other. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  On  cite  comme  une  grosse  affaire  un  astronome  tomb6  dans  un  puits, 
pendant  qu'il  cherchait  dans  le  ciel  une  etoile  :  qu'on  essaye  done  de  comp- 
tcr  ceux  qui,  sans  €tre  astronomes,  ont  fait  la  meme  chftte  en  cher- 
chant  uno  femme,  soil  au  ciel,  soit  sur  la  terre." 

THE  wedding  is  fixed  for  October.  Sir  Tristram  does  not 
wish  to  lose  more  time  than  he  can  help:  ever  since  he  has 
been  in  love  with  Mignon,  the  thought  of  his  age,  which  never 
before  embarrassed  him,  troubles  him :  he  would  gladly  give 
two-thirds  of  his  income  to  be  put  back  ten  years.  The 
hearty  emprcsscment  with  which,  on  his  return  after  three 
years'  absence,  he  has  been  greeted  by  his  fair  friends,  might 
have  helped  to  reassure  him ;  but  no !  Mignon  shows  him 


MIGNON.  67 

constantly  by  the  most  galling  little  words  and  hints  that  she 
thinks  him  old,  and  all  the  flattery,  direct  or  implied,  of  other 
women  can  do  nothing  for  him.  His  glass  shows  him  every 
morning  a  man  in  the  very  prime  and  vigor  of  life,  in  the  posses- 
sion of  as  perfect  health  and  strength  as  he  enjoyed  at  twenty, 
a  man  to  whom  the  word  "  old"  is  so  totally  inappropriate 
that  every  one  but  a  silly  wayward  child  would  laugh  to  scorn 
the  bare  idea  of  its  being  applied  to  him.  No  matter !  Mig- 
non  has  pronounced  him  old,  and  her  verdict  rankles  bitterly 
in  his  breast.  Not  for  his  own  sake.  He  only  wants  her  to 
think  him  young  enough  to  bestow  her  love  on,  young  enough 
to  regard  as  a  lover. 

Since  the  marriage  is  irrevocably  decided  upon,  Mignon  does 
not  much  care  when  it  takes  place.  She  considers  being  en- 
gaged detestable,  disgusting :  better  have  the  whole  thing  over 
and  done  with.  There  are  times  when  she  regards  her  future 
with  extreme  complacency ;  for  instance,  when  Sir  Tristram 
is  absent,  when  Regina  betrays  envy  of  her,  when  she  feels 
herself  the  object  of  the  respectful  solicitude  of  their  few  neigh- 
bors. It  is  pleasant  to  make  excursions  to  London  to  buy 
and  order  lovely  apparel  for  which  she  has  carte  blanche,  Sir 
Tristram  being  Captain  Carlyle's  banker  on  the  occasion, 
although  he  insists  upon  his  generosity  being  kept  secret.  It 
is  delightful  to  do  a  thing  handsomely  at  some  one  else's 
expense  and  to  get  all  the  credit  of  it:  so  Captain  Carlyle 
finds.  A  carriage-and-pair  always  awaits  Mignon  on  her 
arrival  in  London  ;  she  does  her  shopping  in  grand  style,  ac- 
companied usually  by  Regina,  and  charming  little  lunches 
are  prepared  for  her  at  Sir  Tristram's  hotel.  On  one  occasion 
she  goes  to  lunch  with  Mr.  Conyngham,  who  is  in  town  for 
a  couple  of  days  en  route  for  Scotland  and  grouse-shooting. 
Sir  Tristram  feels  as  nervous  as  a  school-boy  about  this 
meeting  between  Mignon  and  his  dearest  friend  :  he  has  an  in- 
tense dread  that  she  will  be  wayward  and  he  cynical.  Neither 
fear  is  realized.  Mignon  is  as  lovely  and  as  gracious  as  an 
angel.  Fred  assumes  an  air  of  bonhomie  that  no  less  aston- 
ishes than  enchants  his  friend.  Mignon  and  Regina  both  go 
away  under  the  impression  that  if  ever  there  was  a  genial, 
benevolent  mortal,  a  genuine  lover  of  his  kind,  a  perfect  phi- 
lanthropist, that  mortal  is  Mr.  Conyngham ;  and  Sir  Tristram 
is  careful  not  to  undeceive  them. 


08  MIQNON. 

Fred,  who  has  watched  Mignon  intently  all  the  time,  gives 
utterance  as  soon  as  she  departs  to  this  involved  reflection : 

"  She  is  very  lovely.     Poor  Tristram  !" 

What  does  he  mean? 

The  lunch  is  in  perfect  taste,  recherche,  ethereal-looking, 
but  satisfying.  A  profusion  of  flowers,  fruit,  delicious  sweets, 
choice  bonbons,  feasts  the  eyes,  whilst  the  other  senses  are  not 
neglected.  Mr.  Conynghain's  lunch  is  a  perfect  success.  Regina, 
ignorant  of  his  anti-matrimonial  ideas,  entertains  some  hopes 
that  she  has  made  an  impression. 

But  Mignon  does  not  always  take  a  palmy  view  of  her 
marriage.  There  are  occasions,  not  unfrequent  ones,  when 
she  is  filled  with  rage  and  horror  at  the  thought,  and  feels 
like  some  wild  young  thing  caught  in  a  trap.  She  persists  in 
regarding  it  as  a  sacrifice  made  for  Gerry:  she  will  not  allow 
to  herself  for  an  instant  that  her  own  ambition  had  any  share 
in  her  decision.  Gerry  is  away  at  a  "  crammer's:"  she  misses 
him  dreadfully:  she  has  no  one  to  exercise  her  exuberant 
spirits  upon:  all  the  others  are  "so  slow,"  Mignon  gets  the 
spleen,  and  vents  it  upon  every  one  about  her,  notably  Sir 
Tristram.  Dearly  as  he  loves  her,  inclined  as  he  is  to  see 
nothing  but  her  loveliness  and  her  perfection,  he  cannot  but  feel 
hurt  and  shocked  sometimes  at  her  behavior.  But  he  defends 
her  gallantly  against  himself.  She  is  unsettled :  when  they 
are  once  married  she  will  return  to  the  sweet  winning  ways 
he  fancies  she  had  when  he  first  knew  her. 

It  is  a  lovely  afternoon  in  September.  Sir  Tristram,  who 
has  taken  up  his  abode  at  The  Warren,  is  away  on  business, 
and  Mignon  is  in  one  of  her  very  worst  tempers.  She  rages 
violently  against  the  thought  of  her  marriage  ;  she  has  terri- 
fied her  family  by  declaring  to  them  that  she  will  tell  Sir  Tris- 
tram to  his  face  as  soon  as  he  returns  that  she  hates  him ;  and 
finally  she  departs  across  the  common  to  her  favorite  glade  in 
order  to  have  it  out  with  herself.  The  heather  is  purpling 
now,  but  Mignon  is  in  no  humor  to  heed  nature's  beauties;  the 
fern  in  the  glade  has  grown  up  tall  and  strong  and  hides  the 
flower-gems  in  the  "  enamelled  sward."  Mignon  flings  her- 
self down  and  tears  up  the  moss  and  grass  vindictively  with 
her  pretty  little  hands :  she  cannot  wreak  her  vengeance  on 
the  fern ;  it  returns  her  violence  with  interest  and  makes  her 
fingers  smart. 


MIONON.  69 

"  What  a  shame  !"  she  says,  talking  to  the  trees  and  the  rab- 
bits,— "  what  a  cruel  wicked  shame,  to  sell  me  to  a  man  I  hate  ! 
Yes,  I  hate  him  for  marrying  me,  and  he  knows  I  hate  him,  and 
he  still  insists  on  buying  me  !  He  shall  know  what  I  think  of 
him, — if  not  before,  afterwards.  I  wish  he  was  dead !" 

And  Mignon,  having  lashed  herself  into  unbearable  rage, 
bursts  into  angry,  spiteful  sobs.  And  so  Oswald  Carey,  coming 
to  seek,  finds  her.  Poor  lad !  Ever  since  he  heard  of  her  en- 
gagement he  has  been  beside  himself  with  misery.  He  has  loved 
her  with  such  a  faithful  love  all  these  years,  and,  though  she  has 
gibed  at  and  flouted  him,  made  a  slave  and  a  scapegoat  of 
him,  somehow  he  has  always  persuaded  himself  that  she  does 
really  care  for  him  and  that  it  is  only  a  her  way."  He  has 
never  built  a  chateau  d1  Espagne  of  which  she  was  not  chate- 
laine, never  pictured  a  future  in  which  hers  was  not  the  most 
prominent  form,  never  had  a  thought  of  ambition  except  to 
glorify  her.  And  his  ewe  lamb  is  wrested  from  him  by  the  strong 
hand  of  the  rich  man,  his  youth  and  love  are  as  reeds  against 
the  arms  of  wealth  and  nobility.  Poor  lad !  heart-sore  and 
wretched  as  he  is,  he  cannot  tear  himself  from  the  sight  of 
her,  though  he  never  comes  near  when  Sir  Tristram  is  by,  and 
would  sooner  die  of  hunger  and  thirst  than  share  one  of  his 
gifts  to  Mignon. 

She  does  not  hear  his  footsteps  on  the  velvet  moss :  he  is 
witness  of  her  tears  and  sobs,  and  nothing  intimates  to  her 
that  her  pain  and  anger  are  watched  by  other  eyes.  Poor  fel- 
low !  his  honest  heart  shares  her  distress,  the  tears  are  in  his 
own  eyes,  he  wants  to  console  her,  but  he  hardly  dares  an- 
nounce his  presence.  Suddenly  she  looks  up,  sees  him,  and 
springs  to  a  sitting  posture.  She  is  glad  to  have  a  victim 
upon  whom  to  vent  her  wrath. 

"  How  dare  you  come  and  pry  after  me  ?"  she  cries,  with 
flashing  eyes  in  which  the  tears  are  still  standing.  "Don't 
you  know  how  mean  it  is  to  sneak  about  and  spy  upon  one  ? 
No  gentleman  would  do  it !" 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Mignon,"  he  says,  humbly.  "  I 
only  came  to  look  for  you.  I  never  thought  of  finding  you 
like  this." 

"  Then  now  perhaps  you  will  go  away  again.  It  is  enough 
to  make  any  one  wretched  only  to  look  at  your  miserable, 
cadaverous  face." 


70  MIGKON. 

"  It  was  not  that  made  you  cry,"  he  says,  gently,  throwing 
himself  down  in  front  of  her. 

"  It  is  no  business  of  yours.  I  shall  cry  if  I  choose"  (with 
increased  petulance).  "  You  need  not  think  I  was  crying  be- 
cause I  am  unhappy.  I  was  crying  to — to  amuse  myself." 

"  You  were  crying  because  you  don't  want  to  marry  Sir 
Tristram,"  cries  Oswald,  eagerly  :  "  you  can't  deceive  me.  Oh, 
Mignon,  darling  Mignon,  stop  before  it's  too  late  !  you  will  be 
wretched  if  you  marry  him ;  no  amount  of  money  or  jewels 
or  fine  clothes  will  make  up  for  it.  If  you  dread  the  idea, 
what  will  the  reality  be?" 

"  You  are  not  to  call  me  darling,"  says  Mignon,  with  dig- 
nity ;  then,  happily  bethinking  her  of  the  unkindest  cut  of 
all,  "  Sir  Tristram  would  not  like  it." 

Poor  Oswald  bites  his  lip  and  clenches  his  fingers.  Mignon 
begins  to  feel  better.  In  her  heart  she  is  rather  fond  of  Os- 
wald, fonder  now  than  before,  but  he  is  her  fetich  :  she  loves 
to  bang  and  beat  him  when  she  is  displeased.  True,  he  is  not 
the  offender,  but  that  rather  adds  zest  to  her  vengeance. 

"  You  do  not,  cannot  care  for  him,"  Oswald  says,  presently, 
— "  a  man  nearly  three  times  your  age." 

"  Oh  !"  retorts  Mignon  ;  "  I  thought  you  said  once  he  was 
a  man  '  any  girl  might  fancy.'  " 

"  Did  I  ?    I  don't  believe  it.     If  I  did,  I  was  a  fool." 

"That  is  too  apparent  to  be  contradicted,"  says  Mignon. 
She  is  getting  quite  good-tempered  now  she  has  some  one  to 
make  uncomfortable. 

"  Yes,"  he  utters,  bitterly,  "  that  is  true  enough.  I  am  a 
fool,  or  I  should  not  be  here.  You  were  quite  right  when 
you  said  in  the  summer  that  the  worse  you  treated  me  the 
more  I  should  care  for  you." 

Mignon  throws  back  her  pretty  head  and  laughs :  she  has 
not  a  grain  of  sympathy  for  him :  on  the  contrary,  she  likes 
to  make  him  suffer :  she  has  to,  and  why  should  he  not  as 
well? 

"  Don't  pull  such  a  long  face,  <  Sir  Knight  of  the  Doleful 
Countenance  !'  "  she  says. 

"Ah!"  he  answers,  more  bitterly  still,  "I  cannot  always 
dance  because  you  pipe,  nor  laugh  for  your  pleasure  when  I've 
got  the  heart-ache." 

"  Heart-ache  !    fiddlesticks  !      Why  should  you  have  the 


MIGNON.  71 

heart-ache  ?  You  haven't  got  to  marry  a  man  you  hate  1" 
says  Mignon,  betraying  herself  unintentionally. 

Oswald  comes  nearer  and  takes  her  hand :  for  a  wonder  she 
permits  him.  There  is  an  impassioned  look  in  his  faithful, 
dog-like  eyes  as  he  exclaims, — 

"  Dearest  Mignon,  think  seriously  what  you  are  going  to 
do !  Remember,  it  is  not  for  a  little  while,  it  is  perhaps  for 
all  your  life,  at  all  events  for  the  best  years  of  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  not  at  all  delicate,"  remarks  Mignon, 
thoughtfully.  "  He  might  live  to  be  eighty.  Ugh  !  I  should 
be  fifty  then." 

"And  when  it's  once  done,  it  can't  be  undone,"  continues 
Oswald. 

"  No,"  assents  Mignon,  gravely.  "  As  the  gipsy  told  me 
the  other  day,  I  was  going  to  tie  a  knot  with  my  tongue  I 
couldn't  untie  with  my  teeth.  Oh,  Oswald  !  it  was  such  fun ! 
We  were  at  the  gate,  and  an  old  brown  cunning-looking  gipsy 
came  along  and  wanted  to  tell  our  fortunes,  so  I  insisted  on 
having  mine  told.  And  what  do  you  think  she  said  ?"  The 
memory  of  it  is  so  irresistibly  mirth-provoking  that  Mignon 
throws  herself  back  and  laughs  one  of  those  bewitching  laughs 
that  harass  the  souls  of  her  lovers.  She  has  no  view  to  effect 
now :  it  is  the  pure  ebullition  of  her  delight.  "  She  said, 
there  was  many  a  heart  sore  with  thinking  of  my  bright  eyes, 
and  one  in  particular  (that's  you,  I  suppose),  and  I  was  going 
to  meet  a  dark  young  man  soon  who'd  fall  in  love  with  me  the 
first  moment  he  ever  clapped  eyes  on  me,  and — and"  (Mignon 
laughs  till  the  tears  roll  down  her  cheeks)  "  and  she  took  Sir 
Tristram  for  my  father,  and  oh  (my  side  aches  so  I  don't  think 
I  can  tell  you)!"  Mignon  is  so  convulsed  she  is  obliged  to 
bury  her  face  in  the  grass. 

"  Well  ?"  says  Oswald,  catching  the  contagion,  though  he 
is  not  yet  in  possession  of  the  joke. 

"  She  said  she  was  quite  sure  he  wasn't  one  of  the  hard- 
hearted fathers  and  wouldn't  stand  in  the  way  of  two  fond 
hearts." 

Having  jerked  out  her  story  between  peals  of  laughter, 
Mignon  throws  herself  down  again  and  gives  vent  to  her  un- 
restrained mirth.  Oswald  laughs ;  but  he  is  a  good-hearted 
fellow  and  sensitive,  and  he  cannot  help  feeling  for  his  rival  in 
such  an  awful  position. 


72  MIGNON. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?"  he  asks. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Mignon  answers,  sitting  up  and  wiping 
the  tears  from  her  cheeks.  "  I  turned  and  fled,  and  never 
stopped  till  I  got  to  my  own  room,  where  I  nearly  died." 

Oswald  contemplates  her  in  thoughtful  silence. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  she  says,  becoming  conscious 
of  his  attentive  scrutiny. 

"  You  would  not  care  to  hear  them." 

"  Yes,  I  should."  Mignon  is  intensely  inquisitive.  "  Do 
tell  me !"  (coaxingly). 

"  I  was  thinking,  if  you  were  not  so  lovely,  how  people 
would  hate  you !" 

Mignon  colors. 

"  You  are  a  beast,"  she  says. 

"  Beast  and  fool !"  he  answers  :  "  you  have  called  me  both 
this  afternoon.  They  are  pretty  words  in  a  pretty  girl's 
mouth." 

"  And  so  you  are, — both,"  she  answers ;  "  and  I  hate  you. 
Now  you  can  go.  If  you  don't,  /shall." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  cries  the  poor  lad,  humbly.  "  I  only  said 
if  you  were  not  lovely ;  but  you  are :  so  you  may  do  anything 
and  people  only  love  you  all  the  better." 

Mignon  is  mollified,  and  they  fall  to  friendly  talk.  Oswald 
is  urging  her  to  fly  with  him  from  the  hated  marriage :  he 
has  a  pretty  little  plan  cut  and  dried  for  carrying  her  off  under 
the  very  noses  of  both  lover  and  father.  She  lets  him  talk 
on :  she  has  not  the  remotest  idea  of  accepting  his  protection, 
but  the  idea  of  an  elopement  is  rather  romantic,  and  pleases 
her. 

Oswald  is  all  in  hot,  eager  earnest :  he  verily  believes  he 
has  made  some  impression  on  her ;  and  she  allows  him  to 
think  so. 

The  sun  is  well  on  his  downward  journey  through  the  blue 
sky ;  he  is  giving  broad  farewell  smiles  to  the  big  tree-trunks,  to 
the  velvet  moss  and  the  green  fern  ;  he  lies  redly  on  Mignon's 
fair  head  and  kindles  her  blue  eyes,  that  look  like  sapphires, 
only  that  no  sapphire  was  ever  so  deep,  so  brilliant,  or  so  ex- 
quisitely blue. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  says.  "  He  is  coming  back  to-night,  and 
we  dine  at  eight." 

As  the  words  are  yet  on  her  lips,  there  is  a  sound  of  wheels, 


MIGNON.  73 

and  Sir  Tristram's  dog-cart  passes  the  end  of  the  glade.  He 
sees  the  two  standing  together,  and  wonders  with  secret  pain 
if  Mignon  cares  for  the  lad. 

"  You  will  think  over  what  I  have  said,  won't  you,  darling?" 
says  Oswald,  eagerly  ;  and  she  nods  assent. 

All  that  evening  Mignon  is  so  supremely  capricious  and 
tormenting  that  Sir  Tristram's  suspicions  are  confirmed.  He 
passes  a  night  of  sleepless  misery.  Early  the  next  morning 
he  sends  a  note  asking  Captain  Carlyle  to  come  to  him.  When 
the  latter  arrives,  he  is  so  agitated  he  can  scarcely  command 
his  voice. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  cries  his  father-in-law  elect,  "  what  ails 
you  ?  You  look  downright  ill !" 

"  Look  here,  Carlyle,"  says  Sir  Tristram :  "  I  fear  I  have 
been  guilty  of  an  egregious  act  of  folly  in  thinking  it  possible 
your  daughter  could  ever  come  to  care  for  me.  Don't  inter- 
rupt me ! — it  is  evident  from  the  way  she  treats  me  that  she  is 
indifferent  to  me ;  and,  God  knows  1  I  would  rather  cut  off 
my  right  hand  than  marry  her,  poor  child,  if  I  thought  she 
shrank  from  me.  It  will  be  an  awful  blow  to  me ;  but  any- 
thing" (agitatedly),  "  anything  rather  than  let  her  suffer. 
Let  me  still  be  the  friend  of  the  family,  let  me  look  on  Gerald 
as  a  brother,  or  a  son ;  but  I  entreat  you  to  tell  me  if  Mignon 
does  not  care  for  me,  or — or  cares  for  some  one  else.  Don't 
leave  it  till  it  is  too  late,  for  heaven's  sake  !" 

Captain  Carlyle  is  wellnigh  distraught. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  cries.  "  She  has  never  seen  any 
one.  Whom  else  could  she  care  for  ?" 

"Young  Carey,"  he  replies.  "I  have  seen  from  the  first 
that  he  was  fond  of  her ;  and  last  night  I  saw  them  standing 
together,  and  he  seemed  agitated." 

"  Curse  him  !"  mutters  Captain  Carlyle,  under  his  breath. 

What !  let  Sir  Tristram  slip  between  his  fingers,  topple 
down  this  tower  of  strength,  snap  the  mainstay  of  his  future  ! 
Never !  Before  he  leaves  The  Warren,  he  succeeds  in  per- 
suading Sir  Tristram  that  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  Mignon's 
affection  for  him,  that  she  has  freely  and  willingly  chosen  him, 
and  that  all'  these  capricious  airs  are  simply  the  result  of  her 
wilfulness  and  her  spoilt  childishness. 

As  he  walks  back  to  the  cottage  he  is  "  breathing  ven- 
geance" against  Oswald  and  Mignon.  He  is  a  passionate  man. 


74  MIONON. 

and  his  fury  is  roused  to  the  highest  pitch  of  which  it  is  capa- 
ble. Oh,  how  he  longs  for  the  good  old  days  when  fathers 
could  whip  their  recalcitrant  daughters  and  shut  them  up  in 
a  closet  with  bread  and  water  till  they  returned  to  a  sense  of 
their  duty !  He  is  so  angry  that,  hot  as  his  haste  is,  he  com- 
pels himself  to  take  a  turn  across  the  common  before  seeing 
Mignon,  lest  he  should  be  guilty  of  some  act  of  violence 
towards  her.  In  spite  of  this  precaution,  he  cannot  restrain 
his  rago  when  he  sees  her,  and  heaps  the  most  furious  words, 
upon  her.  Mignon  does  not  answer  a  syllable:  the  doggedi 
sullen  look  that  is  the  most  dangerous  expression  of  her  tem- 
per comes  into  her  fair  face  at  the  outset,  and  deepens  as  he 
goes  on. 

When  Captain  Carlyle  has  poured  all  the  vials  of  his  wrath, 
she  leaves  him,  and  goes  to  her  room  thirsting  for  and  deter- 
mined on  revenge.  When  Sir  Tristram  comes  to  see  her,  she 
never  answers  by  a  word  to  the  knockings  of  mother  and  sis- 
ters, who  dare  not  rap  too  loudly  lest  he  should  hear  them  and 
surmise  the  state  of  affairs.  Fortunately,  he  is  en  route  for 
London,  and  cannot  stay  very  long  on  account  of  losing  the 
train.  Captain  Carlyle  accompanies  him.  In  the  afternoon 
Miss  MigQOD  sallies  forth,  meets  Oswald  (her  father  has  for- 
bidden her  ever  to  speak  to  him  again),  and  tells  him  that  she 
is  ready  to  fly  with  him.  She  will  pretend  illness  next  day ; 
he  is  to  have  a  carriage  waiting  on  the  common  ;  she  will  join 
him  shortly  before  nine,  in  time  to  catch  the  train  for  London. 
She  is  to  go  to  the  house  of  Oswald's  old  nurse,  who  is  mar- 
ried to  a  butcher  in  the  Borough,  and  who  would  do  "  any- 
thing in  the  world"  for  him,  he  tells  Mignon. 

Oswald  leaves  her  with  winged  heels  to  make  his  arrange- 
ments, and  Mignon  goes  back  to  the  bosom  of  her  family, 
hugging  delightedly  to  her  breast  the  thought  of  the  dire 
revenue  she  is  about  to  inflict  on  every  member  of  it.  When 
Sir  Tristram  and  Captain  Carlyle  return  from  town,  she  is  in 
the  most  charming  humor  in  the  world:  the  former  is  per- 
suaded that  his  fears  were  unfounded,  the  latter  congratulates 
himself  upon  his  "  firmness"  in  the  morning. 


MIGNON.  75 


CHAPTER  IX. 

" ( I  know  not/  said  the  Princess,  '  whether  marriage  be  more  than 
one  of  the  innumerable  modes  of  human  misery.  I  am  sometimes  dis- 
posed to  think  with  the  severer  casuists  of  most  nations,  that  marriage 
is  rather  permitted  than  approved,  and  that  none,  but  by  the  instigation 
of  a  passion  too  much  indulged,  entangle  themselves  with  indissoluble 
compacts.' "  Jtasselan. 

THE  day  following,  when  Sir  Tristram  comes  to  pay  his 
usual  visit,  he  brings  Mignon  a  collar  of  pearls  with  a  dia- 
mond clasp,  a  magnificent  diamond  pendant,  and  ear-rings  to 
match.  He  also  brings  her  a  basket  of  peaches  and  a  lovely 
box  of  French  bonbons.  Mignon  begins  to  think  it  would  be 
rather  a  shame  to  spoil  Gerry's  prospects.  Sir  Tristram  has, 
besides,  a  proposal  to  make  to  her.  How  would  she  like  to  go 
abroad  after  their  marriage  and  on  by  easy  stages  to  Italy  ? 
He  has  had  foreign  travel  enough  to  last  him  his  life,  but, 
ever  thoughtful  for  Mignon,  he  reflects  that  it  might  be  a  dis- 
advantage to  her  to  appear  in  the  world  never  having  been 
anywhere  or  seen  anything.  This  proposal  charms  the  young 
lady.  She  decides  that  every  sacrifice  must  be  made  for  Gerry 
at  whatever  cost  to  herself.  So,  whilst  poor  Oswald  is  waiting 
in  an  agony  of  impatience  on  the  common,  counting  the  mo- 
ments, until,  to  his  despair,  he  finds  it  is  too  late  under  any 
circumstance  to  catch  the  last  train,  Mignon  is  calmly  coquet- 
ting with  Sir  Tristram  in  the  garden  by  moonlight,  and  he, 
charmed  with  her  new-born  graciousness,  is  more  infatuated 
than  ever. 

Mignon  is  rather  sorry  for  Oswald,  but  she  could  not  very 
well  warn  him  of  her  change  of  mind  without  betraying  her- 
self. He,  poor  lad,  is  the  prey  to  a  thousand  wild  fancies, 
firmly  believes  that  their  plot  has  been  discovered  and  she  per- 
haps put  in  durance  vile.  At  last  he  sends  the  fly  away  in 
despair,  and  creeps  towards  the  house  to  try  to  find  out  what 
is  going  on  within.  As  he  draws  near,  he  hears  the  sound  of 
Mignon's  ringing  laugh  :  a  moment  later  he  catches  sight  of 
her  lovely  face  upturned  in  the  moonlight  to  Sir  Tristram,  who 


76  MIONON. 

is  regarding  her  with  all  the  rapture  of  a  favored  lover.  A 
stony  feeling  creeps  over  Oswald,  as  though,  instead  of  look- 
ing on  that  golden  head,  he  was  gazing  on  the  Medusa's 
writhing  snakes.  He  creeps  away  out  of  sight  and  hearing, 
and  then  flings  himself  wildly  on  the  common  and  gives  vent 
to  his  passion  of  rage  and  despair.  When  he  takes  his  way 
homeward,  he  is  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man.  Never  again,  he 
swears,  will  he  see  that  fair,  false  face.  Nor  does  he ;  and 
Mignon  is  thus  saved  from  a  great  deal  of  embarrassment. 
Against  her  father  she  is  bitterly  enraged.  He  cannot  win  a 
word  or  look  from  her  save  absolutely  necessary  Yeas  and 
Nays,  though  he  tries  his  hardest  to  conciliate  her.  It  will  be 
very  unpleasant,  he  reflects,  if  as  Lady  Bergholt  she  should 
turn  against  him  and  carry  her  husband  with  her.  Besides, 
she  is  really  his  favorite  child ;  and  he  feels  remorse  for  his 
outburst,  which  he  no  longer  congratulates  himself  upon  as 
"judicious  firmness." 

The  days  wear  on  apace,  and  Mignon  alternates  between 
self-gratulation  and  angry  regret.  The  nearer  her  wedding- 
day  looms,  the  more  unsatisfactory  it  seems  to  her,  the  more 
of  a  martyr  is  she  pleased  to  consider  herself, — something 
between  Iphigenia  and  Jephthah's  daughter. 

In  spite  of  the  evidence  of  jewel-cases  and  gorgeous  ap- 
parel, she  persists  in  ignoring  any  advantage  to  herself:  she 
is  the  victim  of  her  father's  rashness  and  Gerry's  ambition. 
By  her  wayward  and  fractious  behaviour  she  drives  her  family 
to  the  verge  of  despair ;  they  long  with  ardor  for  the  wedding- 
day,  after  which  Sir  Tristram  will  have  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
her  humors.  He,  luckily  for  himself,  is  called  to  his  Northern 
property  on  important  business,  and  sees  very  little  of  her 
during  the  ten  days  that  immediately  precede  the  "  event." 
He  has  been  considerably  exercised  in  his  mind  on  the  subject 
of  a  best  man :  he  knows  it  is  no  use  asking  Fred,  who  has 
an  utter  horror  of  weddings ;  every  one  of  his  intimate  friends 
is  away  shooting  or  abroad.  What  is  to  be  done  ?  He  meets 
Raymond  L'Estrange  one  day  passing  through  town,  and  asks 
the  favor  somewhat  diffidently  of  him.  Raymond  accepts  the 
office. 

At  last  the  day  arrives,  the  day  impatiently  looked  for  by 
every  one  but  Mignon.  It  is  a  windy,  showery  day,  with  fit- 
ful gleams  of  sunshiue3  not  the  sort  of  day  one  would  choose 


MIGNON.  77 

for  a  wedding.  Sir  Tristram  is  too  happy  to  care  about  the 
weather,  Mignon  too  miserable.  She  is  within  an  ace  of  say- 
ing "  No"  at  the  altar,  but  refrains,  and  issues  from  the 
church-door,  Lady  Bergholt.  The  first  gleam  of  satisfaction 
she  feels  is  when  she  hears  herself  called  "  My  lady." 

Raymond  has  not  been  able  to  get  a  good  glimpse  of  her 
yet :  her  costly  lace  veil  somewhat  conceals  her  face,  which  is 
perhaps  well,  since  its  expression  might  startle  some  of  the 
bystanders.  He  can  only  see  that  she  has  ruddy,  golden  hair 
arid  an  exquisite  figure.  But  when  her  veil  is  removed,  he 
absolutely  draws  in  his  breath.  Never  in  his  life,  he  thinks, 
has  he  seen  anything  so  perfectly  lovely  as  Lady  Bergholt. 
"  I  congratulate  you,  Sir  Tristram  ;  you  are  fortunate,"  he 
whispers,  heartily,  almost  enviously,  and  the  happy  bridegroom 
smiles  radiantly.  At  this  moment  he  would  not  change  places 
with  any  created  human  being ;  three  hours  later  I  think  he 
would  have  considered  himself  the  gainer  by  exchange  with  a 
crossing-sweep  or  a  galley-slave. 

They  are  at  breakfast.  Raymond  can  scarcely  take  his  eyes 
from  the  bride.  He  is  wishing  devoutly  that  he  had  met  her 
before  Sir  Tristram,  and  the  bride  steals  many  a  furtive  glance 
at  him,  and  thinks  she  has  never  seen  a  man  half  so  hand- 
some. She  is  thinking,  too,  with  intense  bitterness,  "  If  I 
had  not  tied  myself  to  this  old  man,  I  might  have  married 
one  who  was  young  and  handsome  and  rich  too." 

The  carriage  is  waiting  to  convey  the  happy  pair  to  a  station 
eight  miles  distant.  It  is  drawn  by  four  bays,  and  was  to 
have  been  open,  but  a  shower  is  apprehended.  Mignon  comes 
down,  looking  lovely  in  her  charming  toilette,  but  white  as  her 
own  lace.  She  does  not  smile,  nor  evince  emotion  of  any 
kind.  Her  own  family  are  painfully  conscious  that  there  is 
something  strange  about  her.  If  so  lovely  a  face  could  look 
vindictive,  one  might  say  that  was  the  expression  of  it.  Ray- 
mond says  to  himself,  "  By  Jove !  she  does  not  like  him. 
What  a  shame !" 

Lady  Bergholt  -permits  her  mother  and  sisters  to  embrace 
her,  though  she  holds  herself  as  rigid  as  an  icicle ;  she  kisses 
Gerry,  the  only  one  whom  she  thus  favors ;  from  her  father 
she  turns  deliberately  away,  and  he  busies  himself  about  the 
carriage,  afraid  to  seem  conscious  of  her  behavior.  Sir 
Tristram  does  not  see  this  little  episode  j  he  helps  his  wife 

7* 


78  MIGNON. 

into  the  carriage,  jumps  in  after  her,  and  the  four  handsome 
:  art  with  a  flourish.  At  the  last  moment,  the  old  slip- 
pel's  that  have  been  carefully  prepared  for  the  occasion  are 
forgotten. 

Sir  Tristram  feels  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  During 
his  engagement  he  has  sometimes  had  nervous  fears  that 
something  would  step  between  him  and  Mignon,  and  that 
he  would  never  know  the  intense  bliss  of  calling  her  wife. 
All  fear  and  doubt  have  vanished  now :  this  exquisite  being 
is  his  very  own.  In  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  he  turns  and 
clasps  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Don't  touch  me !"  she  almost  shrieks,  disengaging  herself 
violently  from  his  embrace.  "  I  hate  you  /"  And  with  that 
she  falls  to  bitter  weeping. 

Sir  Tristram's  arms  fall  nerveless  by  his  side:  an  awful 
horror  seizes  him.  And  yet  she  cannot  mean  it :  her  nerves 
are  unstrung ;  that  is  all. 

"  You  know  it !"  she  gasps,  between  her  sobs,  all  her  pent- 
up  rage  and  misery  breaking  forth ;  "  you  knew  it  all  along  ! 
but  you  would  marry  me." 

Sir  Tristram  puts  his  hand  to  his  head. 

"  Oh,  God  !  what  have  I  done !"  he  mutters. 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead  !"  sobs  Mignon. 

"  Child,"  he  cries,  hoarsely,  "  have  some  human  pity  upon 
me !  If  I  had  known  this  only  this  morning,  I  would  rather 
have  put  a  bullet  through  my  heart  than  marry  you." 

"  You  did  know  it !"  she  retorts.  "  I  told  you  at  first,  in 
the  message  I  sent  you  by  papa." 

"  What  message  ?" 

"  He  promised  me  on  his  honor  to  tell  you  what  I  said." 

"  And  what  was  that  ?" 

"  That  I  did  not  care  for  you,  and  never  should  ;  that  I  only 
accepted  you  for  Gerry's  sake ;  and  that  if  you  liked  to  take 
me  on  those  terms,  you  could." 

In  his  heart,  Sir  Tristram  curses  Captain  Carlyle.  If  he 
had  only  told  him  the  truth  !  The  future  stands  a  yawning 
gulf  before  him, — an  awful  abyss,  into  which  he  has  not  only 
plunged  himself  but  this  unhappy  girl. 

"As  God  is  my  witness,"  he  murmurs,  brokenly,  "  he  never 
told  me  this.  I  believed,  at  all  events,  that  if  you  did  not 
love  me  now  I  could  make  you  in  time." 


MIGNON.  79 

"  Make  me  1"  she  echoes,  scornfully.  "  How  could  you, 
when  you  are  more  than  old  enough  to  be  my  father?" 

This  is  the  revenge  Mignon  has  promised  herself:  it  is  the 
thought  of  telling  him  these  bitter  truths  that  has  buoyed  her 
up.  It  is  not  in  her  hard  little  soul  to  fathom  the  agony  she 
is  inflicting  on  this  noble  heart :  bitter  words  only  make  her 
angry,  and  she  can  retaliate.  Nothing  any  living  being  could 
say  could  wound  her  a  thousandth  part  as  she  is  wounding  the 
unhappy  man  beside  her. 

What  shall  he  do  ?  he  wonders,  in  speechless  pain.  Shall 
he  stop  the  carriage  and  take  her  back  home  again,  or  shall 
he  go  on  to  Dover,  whither  they  are  bound,  telegraph  to  her 
father,  and,  leaving  her  in  possession  of  his  title  and  wealth, 
fly  the  country  forever  ?  He  is  a  proud  man  ;  he  shrinks  from 
public  exposure,  above  all  from  ridicule.  He  leans  back  in 
the  carriage  like  one  stunned,  feeling  as  if  some  awful  dis- 
grace had  befallen  him,  or  rather  as  if  he  had  brought  it  upon 
himself.  He  ought  to  have  known.  Had  he  not  had  warn- 
ings ?  When  Mignon  treated  him  with  caprice  and  disdain, 
why  had  he  not  attributed  it  to  its  right  source  ?  why  had  he 
been  fool  enough  to  take  her  father's  word  for  her  liking  ? 

Mignon,  having  vented  her  spleen,  feels  better.  She  dries 
her  eyes,  and  lets  down  the  window  that  the  wind  may  cool 
her  hot  cheeks,  bethinking  herself  that  she  does  not  want 
people  to  see  she  has  been  crying.  She  is  not  at  all  sorry  nor 
ashamed  of  her  outburst,  but  rather  congratulates  herself  upon 
having  had  the  Spartan  fortitude  to  carry  out  her  vindictive 
intention.  Then,  quite  oblivious  of  the  man  she  has  stricken 
with  such  bitter  agony,  she  falls  to  thinking  about  Oswald 
and  wondering  if  he  is  feeling  very  bad  about  her  marriage  ; 
then  the  handsome  Mr.  1'Estrange  occupies  her  thoughts,  and 
is  in  his  turn  ousted  by  her  new  maid,  whom  she  thinks  an 
awful  nuisance.  By  the  time  she  reaches  the  station,  she  has 
quite  recovered  her  serenity ;  but  Sir  Tristram,  as  he  hands 
her  out,  is  ashy  pale  and  looks  like  a  man  who  has  seen  some 
awful  vision.  The  valet  and  the  maid  remark  it ;  so  do  the 
post-boys.  Mignon  does  not  condescend  to  glance  at  him  until 
he  is  seated  opposite  to  her  in  the  train. 

"  How  old  he  looks  !"  she  says  to  herself, — "  older  even 
than  I  thought  before." 


80  MIQNON. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"Yes !  to  lie  beneath  a  walnut-tree  or  cedar  in  a  garden 
Quaint,  old-fashioned,  shut  away  from  all  the  murmurs  of  the  crowd, 
Of  whose  gate  some  sculptured  figure,  Love  or  Time,  should  be  the 

warden, 

And  where  only  voice  of  singing  birds  should  dare  to  breathe  aloud." 

Violet  Fane. 

MRS.  STRATHEDEN  always  leaves  London  for  her  country- 
seat  the  first  week  in  July.  Her  instincts  are  gregarious,  she 
is  fond  of  society,  could  hardly  indeed  (so  her  friends  say) 
live  long  without  it,  but  she  is  passionately  fond  of  the  coun- 
try. "  One  could  not  appreciate  it  thoroughly,"  she  says, 
smiling,  "  if  one  were  not  able  to  contrast  it  with  the  din  and 
bustle  and  weariness  of  cities.  I  should  not  know  the  delight 
of  coming  back  if  I  never  left  it."  So,  the  first  convenient 
day  in  July,  she,  Mrs.  Forsyth,  her  friend  (she  never  calls 
her  by  the  hireling  name  of  "  companion"),  and  the  greater 
part  of  her  establishment,  take  leave  of  May  Fair  and  speed 
homewards  by  the  Great  Northern  express  to  The  Manor 
House.  There,  for  a  fortnight,  Olga  takes  what  she  calls  her 
holiday.  Not  a  guest  does  she  bid,  not  a  visit  does  she  pay, 
but  roams  about  her  grounds  the  live-long  day,  plucks  gorgeous 
or  tender-colored  roses,  seeks  crimson  strawberries  amidst  their 
green  nest  of  leaves  and  gathers  them  with  dainty  fingers, 
paces  to  and  fro  under  the  big  firs  whence  the  sun  draws  a 
keen  strong  fragrance,  over  a  velvety  green  moss  so  luxu- 
riously soft,  so  delicately  shaded,  that  no  carpet  from  Eastern 
looms  could  hope  to  vie  with  it.  Or  perhaps  she  lies  indo- 
lently among  the  cushions  of  her  boat  on  the  lakelet,  and  lets 
the  clear  cool  water  trickle  through  her  fingers,  or  swings 
gently  to  and  fro  in  her  hammock  between  the  trees  on  the 
tiny  island. 

"  A  hammock,"  writes  Edward  Delaney  to  John  Flemining 
in  that  charming  story  "  Marjorie  Daw,"  "  is  very  becoming 
when  one  is  eighteen,  and  has  gold  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  a  blue 
illusion  dress  looped  up  after  the  fashion  of  a  Dresden  china 


MIGNON.  81 

shepherdess,  and  is  cTiaussee  like  a  belle  of  the  time  of  Louis 
Quatorze."  It  is  some  time  since  Olga  Stratheden  was  eighteen, 
and  her  hair  is  not  gold  but  dark,  yet  I  take  the  liberty  to 
doubt  whether  many  girls  of  eighteen  could  match  her  grace 
or  her  chaussures  as  she  "  sways  like  a  pond-lily  in  the  golden 
afternoon,"  to  quote  Delaney  again.  Olga  has  the  most  beau- 
tifully shaped  head  in  the  world ;  its  poise  is  perfect.  Her  hands 
have  been  modelled  many  a  time ;  so  might  her  feet  have  been, 
had  she  permitted  it.  Had  Olga  lived  in  the  days  of  powder 
and  patches,  she  would  have  been  a  beauty :  it  was  often  said 
to  her,  "  You  should  have  been  a  French  marquise  in  the  las"t 
century."  She  had  assumed  the  dress  more  than  once  at  a 
fancy  dress  ball,  and  had  felt  herself  very  near  possessing  the 
gift  she  had  longed  for  most  of  all.  Why  did  she  long  for  it  ? 
Most  women  desire  beauty  because  it  begets  love.  But  Olga 
has  been  loved  more  than  many  a  beautiful  woman. 

This  is  her  story. 

Some  years  ago,  the  Bishop  of  Lawn  was  summoned  to  the 
bedside  of  a  dying  man.  To  console  him  with  the  last  rites 
of  the  Church  ?  to  steady  his  trembling  feet  on  the  brink  of 
the  dark  waters?  to  soothe  the  pangs  of  a  young  spirit 
snatched  from  life,  love,  all  the  world  deems  fair  ?  No,  none 
of  these.  He  has  been  sent  for  to  marry  him.  Olga  is  the 
bride ;  the  dying  man  is  her  first-cousin,  George  Stratheden, 
of  whose  life  she  has  been  the  sole  love.  Of  those  present 
there  is  but  one  whose  eyes  are  dry,  whose  voice  is  firm :  it  is 
the  bridegroom.  He  is  content,  nay,  glad,  for  at  this  price 
only  he  knows  could  he  ever  have  attained  the  dearest  wish 
of  his  life. 

When  the  ceremony  is  over,  a  smile  comes  into  his  fair 
young  face,  a  smile  such  as  a  bridegroom  might  wear  who  had 
Life  and  Love,  not  the  cold  arms  of  the  King  of  Terrors, 
awaiting  him,  and,  lifting  his  blue  eyes,  he  whispers, — 

"  Kiss  me,  darling  wife." 

Olga,  heart-broken,  flings  herself  down  beside  him ;  it  is 
too  much  for  her  tense  nerves ;  she  swoons. 

One  more  retrospect. 

Mr.  Stratheden  and  Captain  Sefton  married  two  sisters, 
daughters  of  a  poor  baronet.  Mr.  Stratheden  was  rich  and 
middle-aged,  Captain  Sefton  young,  handsome,  not  overbur- 
dened with  means.  Each  sister  was  content  with,  and  happy 


82  MIGNON. 

in,  her  choice.  Mrs.  Stratheden  was  a  woman  of  simple 
tastes:  the  country  life  it  pleased  her  husband,  a  thorough 
sportsman,  to  lead,  suited  her  admirably.  She  had  only  one 
object  in  life,  to  make  him  happy ;  this  object  divided  itself 
into  two  equal  halves  when  her  son  and  only  child  was  born. 

Mrs.  Sefton  was  devoted  to  society.  She  and  her  husband' 
lived  in  a  vortex  of  gayety :  neither  was  happy  without  it. 
To  them  also  was  born  one  child,  Olga,  christened  after  a  Rus- 
sian princess,  an  intimate  friend  of  Mrs.  Seflon's,  who  volun- 
teered to  be  her  godmother.  Some  costly  toys,  various  bonbon- 
boxes,  and  a  pair  of  diamond  ear-rings  bequeathed  in  her  will, 
testified  to  her  discharge  of  the  duties  of  sponsorship.  Olga 
never  remembered  to  have  seen  her  handsome,  autocratic  god- 
mother ;  she  had  been  vexed  as  a  child  by  the  strangeness  of 
her  name,  on  which  other  children  made  disparaging  comment, 
but  as  she  grew  up  she  came  to  like  it,  and  what  had  before 
given  her  a  distaste  for  it,  its  singularity,  became  its  charm. 
Olga  was  fond  of  her  mother,  but  she  adored  her  father :  so 
that  when  Mrs.  Sefton  died,  still  quite  young,  the  child  could 
sob  herself  to  sleep  on  her  father's  breast,  and  wake,  feeling 
that  what  she  loved  best  was  still  left  to  her.  Captain,  Colonel 
Sefton  now,  devoted  as  he  was  to  his  little  daughter,  began  to 
discover  the  inconvenience  of  being  left  alone  in  the  world  with 
a  young  lady  who  required  to  be  educated,  particularly  as  he 
had  a  rooted  aversion  for  schools.  Olga,  though  she  had  a  sweet 
disposition,  was  proud  and  intensely  sensitive.  Colonel  Sefton 
understood  her  character,  and  saw  perfectly  that  what  Olga 
was  to  develop  into  as  a  woman  depended  almost  entirely  upon 
the  person  or  persons  who  influenced  her  young  years.  Ah ! 
those  young  years,  that  are  like  the  tendrils  of  the  vine  when 
they  begin  to  climb  and  twine,  ready  to  grow  either  to  the 
stout  wall  and  live  at  peace  and  shelter  there,  or  to  creep 
round  rotten  sticks  and  worm-eaten  lattice-work,  to  be  blown 
away  and  torn  and  ruined  when  the  wild  winds  beat  about 
them.  Ah,  parents!  take  care  you  give  your  children  the 
stout  wall  to  cling  to,  not  the  crumbled  wood-work !  For 
Olga's  sake,  then,  Colonel  Sefton  desired  to  find  a  woman  gen- 
tle, firm,  pleasant-mannered,  lady-like,  above  all  things  sym- 
pathiqiie  (I  think  that  word  expresses  the  meaning  better 
than  sympathetic),  and  who  should  possess  a  certain  amount 
of  youth  and  comeliness.  He  had  a  theory  about  good  looks, 


particularly 
woman  unle 


M1GNON.  83 

in  the  opposite  sex :  he  did  not  believe  in  a 
woman  unless  she  looked  good,  or,  rather,  was  good  to  look  at. 
But  when  he  set  himself  to  the  task  of  selecting  this  rara  avis, 
and  tried  to  enlist  the  help  of  his  fair  friends,  they  one  and 
all,  even  the  most  charming  and  the  most  reasonable,  arched 
their  eyebrows,  drew  down  their  mouths,  and  smiled  or 
frowned  as  the  case  might  be,  but  gave  as  their  ultimatum 
that  it  was  not  to  be  done.  If  only  now  he  would  not  insist 
upon  the  governess  being  young  and  good-looking  !  But  on 
that  subject  Colonel  Sefton  was  as  firm  as  his  fair  counsellors 
were  obstinate  (I  believe  I  have  given  the  correct^?)  adjectives 
to  the  sexes). 

"  My  dear  Colonel  Sefton,  if  you  have  a  young  governess, 
you  must  not  live  in  the  same  house,  or  you  must  have  an 
elderly  person  as  chaperon."  This  is  what  one  lady  tells  him. 
11  But  you  know,"  says  another,  delicately,  "  though  you  may 
have  the  very  best  intentions, — I  am  quite  sure  you  have, — 
the  world  will  talk."  "  The  end  of  it  will  be.  Charlie,"  cries 
the  third  and  most  intimate,  "you  will  marry  the  horrid 
creature  ;  and  a  great  deal  of  good  that  will  do  Olga." 

Colonel  Sefton  is  thoroughly  perplexed.  At  last  Mrs. 
Stratheden  cuts  the  Gordian  knot  for  him  :  she  is  a  kind,  good 
woman,  always  more  ready  with  help  and  comfort  than  advice. 
"  Let  Olga  come  to  us,"  she  says.  "  Choose  your  own 
governess  :  we  have  plenty  of  room  for  her ;  she  need  not  in- 
convenience us  in  any  way  ;  and  as  often  as  you  like  to  see  the 
child,  come  to  us,  or  she  shall  go  to  you.  It  will  be  good  for 
Georgie  and  us  too.  We  are  two  very  quiet  stupid  people, 
and  want  brightening  up."  After  taking  much  time  to  reflect, 
and  considering  every  pro  and  con,  Colonel  Sefton  accepted 
the  kind  offer,  and  there  was  not  one  of  the  parties  interested 
who  had  not  thorough  cause  for  self-gratulation  on  his  de- 
cision. 

Olga  was  not  told  at  first :  she  went,  as  supposed,  on  a  visit 
to  The  Manor  House  with  her  father  ;  but  before  a  fortnight 
was  over,  she  was  so  devoted  to  every  member  of  the  family, 
to  every  dog,  cat,  horse,  and  bird  about  the  place,  that  the 
mere  hint  of  leaving,  artfully  thrown  out  one  day,  sent  her 
into  such  a  torrent  of  sobs  and  tears  that  Colonel  Sefton  and 
Mrs.  Stratheden  could  scarcely  forbear  exchanging  a  smile 
(rather  a  sad  one  on  the  father's  part)  at  the  success  of  their 


84  MIONON. 

stratagem.  But  it  had  not  entered  into  Olga's  mind  that  it 
•was  a  question  of  deciding  between  her  father  and  her  new 
friends.  When  she  realized  that,  she  did  not  hesitate  for  a 
moment.  Ultimately,  however,  when  Colonel  Sefton  promised 
to  come  very  often  to  see  her,  and  assured  her  that  she  would 
in  reality  see  more  of  him  if  she  stayed  at  The  Manor  House 
than  if  she  lived  with  him  in  town,  Olga  was  persuaded,  and 
from  that  day  to  the  present  it  has  been  her  home. 

After  two  or  three  failures,  Colonel  Sefton  at  last  found  the 
ideal  governess  in  Mrs.  Forsyth,  the  widow  of  a  naval  officer. 
She  was  scarcely  more  than  a  girl,  but  possessed  all  the  attri- 
butes that  Olga's  father  considered  most  important.  Besides 
these,  she  had  immense  tact,  the  desire  to  please  and  by  pleas- 
ing to  secure  her  own  future.  She  soon  gained  unbounded 
influence  over  the  child,  and  used  it  faithfully  and  conscien- 
tiously. Her  maxims,  it  is  true,  savored  rather  more  of  worldly 
wisdom  than  Christian  precept :  it  was  to  Mrs.  Forsyth  indis- 
putably Olga  owed  that  gracious  tact  and  savoir-plaire  Fred 
Conyngham  admired  so  much. 

At  eighteen  Olga  was  the  most  gracious,  sweet-mannered, 
distinguished-looking  girl  possible  to  imagine.  Her  father 
and  aunt  adored  her :  as  for  poor  George,  her  cousin,  just 
coming  of  age,  he  had  always  been  her  most  devoted  slave. 
Mr.  Stratheden  had  been  dead  four  years,  leaving  his  son  a 
very  handsome  unentailed  property.  Olga  loved  her  cousin 
very  sincerely  as  a  cousin,  but  refused  to  think  of  making  the 
tie  stronger  between  them.  Poor  George  would  not  be  sat- 
isfied with  her  cousinly  affection,  and  fumed  and  fretted  him- 
self nearly  into  a  fever.  His  mother  pleaded  his  cause  ;  Olga 
turned  a  deaf  ear.  Mrs.  Forsyth  was  entreated  to  use  her 
influence,  but  declined,  and  thereby  increased  her  power  over 
the  girl  fourfold.  There  was  no  persecution  used :  next  to 
her  son,  Mrs.  Stratheden  loved  Olga :  she  wanted  both  to  be 
happy.  Just  before  her  eighteenth  birthday,  Olga  wrote  to 
her  father : 

"  My  dearest  Papa,— Have  you  forgotten  that  I  am  nearly 
eighteen  ?  When  am  I  *  coming  out'  ?  Mary  and  Alice  Vane 
are  going  to  be  presented  this  season.  I  think,  for  more 
reasons  than  one,  that  it  would  be  good  for  me  to  leave  home 
for  a  little  while,  although  I  am  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long 
and  shall  miss  them  all  dreadfully." 


MIGNON.  85 

On  receipt  of  this  letter,  Colonel  Sefton  went  at  once  to  his 
sister  Lady  Wyvenhoe,  who  agreed  to  present  Olga  and  to  take 
charge  of  her  for  the  season. 

May  comes,  the  fairest  month  of  the  year,  lavish  of  sweet 
scents  and  sounds  and  tender  coloring ;  but  what  are  the 
charms  of  nature  to  the  charms  of  art  ?  How  can  the  lilies 
and  pansies,  the  primroses  and  the  blue  hyacinths,  the  pink 
hawthorn  and  the  golden  showers  of  laburnum,  vie  with  the 
guirlandes  on  a  court  train  ?  what  worth  have  the  dew-drops 
spangling  the  green  hedge-rows  by  the  side  of  the  imperish- 
able dew-drops  flashing  on  proud  heads  and  white  (or,  it  may 
be,  mahogany-colored)  bosoms?  what  are  the  strains  of  the 
nightingale,  blackbird,  and  thrush,  and  the  soft  wooing  of  ring- 
doves to  the  Italian  Opera  or  Signer  Squagliatowski's  matinee? 
what  all  the  lovely  variety  of  spring  foliage  to  the  two  rows 
of  trees  in  Rotten  Row  which  as  yet  give  but  sparse  shelter 
from  the  sun's  ardent  rays  ?  what  the  glorious  floods  of  silver 
moonlight  in  the  country  to  the  thousand  wax  candles  at  Lady 
G.'s  reception?  What,  indeed? 

Olga  feels  stifled  at  first,  after  the  boundless  breathing- 
space  she  has  been  used  to  in  the  country  ;  but  it  is  not  long 
ere  the  subtle  power  of  art  begins  to  exercise  its  fascinations 
over  her.  Her  debut  is  most  successful :  Lady  Wyvenhoe,  a 
very  good  judge,  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  impression  her 
niece  creates.  People  do  not  say  Miss  Sefton  is  lovely,  but 
they  call  her  charming  (than  which,  if  sincerely  meant,  few 
words  can  be  more  flattering),  elegant,  distinguee,  thorough- 
bred. And  men  add,  when  appealed  to,  "  Quite  good-looking 
enough  for  anything !" 

In  the  vortex  amidst  which  she  is  plunged,  Olga  has  yet 
time  to  lose  her  heart, — poor  Olga !  Among  the  men  who 
come  frequently  to  Lady  Wyvenhoe's  house,  who  surround 
her  niece  when  she  appears  in  the  world,  is  the  Honorable 
Oliver  Beauregard.  He  is  no  longer  a  young  man,  nor  does 
he  aflect  youthful  airs.  "  I  have  lived  a  long  time  in  the 
world,"  is  a  saying  frequently  on  his  lips  to  women,  uttered 
with  a  charming  tenderness  of  manner.  Just  before  Olga 
met  him,  he  had  taken  the  enormous  leap  that  separates  a 
youngish  man  from  a  middle-aged  or  oldish  one, — had  passed 
from  thirty-nine  to  forty.  He  had  given  the  best  years  of  his 
life  to  the  study  of  women :  by  this  time  he  knew — or  thought 

8 


80  MIONON. 

he  knew — them  by  heart,  at  every  age,  in  every  rank,  con- 
dition, and  phase.  "  Far  more  interesting  study  than  fossil 
remains,  the  antiquity  of  man,  the  missing  link,  or  any  of 
Nature's  other  vagaries,"  he  had  been  heard  to  say.  Not  that 
he  wafr  in  the  least  given  to  swagger  about  his  knowledge ; 
nor  was  he  ever  known  to  speak  of  a  woman  individually  ex- 
cept in  a  merely  commonplace  manner.  "  A  man  who  has 
anything  to  talk  about  never  talks,"  was  one  of  his  chief 
maxims,  although  he  forbore  to  enunciate  it.  Women  were 
often  curious  to  see  him  and  to  make  his  acquaintance.  They 
were  invariably  disappointed  at  first.  "  Really  ?"  (with  a 
slight  raising  of  the  brows)  "  that  the  dangerous  Captain 
Beauregard  ?  there  is  nothing  in  the  least  Juanesque  in  his 
appearance !" 

On  the  contrary,  he  is  a  very  quiet,  gentlemanlike-looking 
man,  without  the  slightest  approximation  to  the  languishing, 
fascinating  airs  commonly  supposed  to  be  inseparable  from  a 
Lovelace.  He  is  not  even  handsome,  but  has  a  good  figure,  a 
low-toned  voice,  and  wonderfully  expressive  eyes.  With  these 
gifts  he  has  contrived  before  Olga  meets  him  to  make  more 
havoc  in  the  susceptible  breasts  of  the  fair  than  any  acknowl- 
edged "  beauty  man"  of  the  age. 

Captain  Beauregard  admires  Olga:  he  looks  upon  her 
with  more  respect  than  he  is  wont  in  his  heart  to  accord  her 
sex.  Outwardly  no  man  could  appear  to  feel  a  more  reveren- 
tial devotion  for  women  :  it  is  one  of  his  great  weapons.  A 
man  who  affects  to  make  light  of  women,  to  sneer  at  them,  to 
speak  coarsely  to  and  of  them,  damages  himself  unspeakably 
in  their  eyes.  They  may  tolerate  him,  may  laugh  at  and  with 
him,  but  in  their  hearts  they  dislike  or  despise  him. 

Oliver  Beauregard  saw  at  a  glance  that  Olga  respected  her- 
self, first  and  most  important  step  towards  gaining  the  respect 
of  others.  She  was  full  of  laughter,  of  brightness,  of  gay 
wit,  but  there  was  a  pureness  and  dignity  about  her  which 
forbade  any  one  to  be  coarse  in  her  presence.  And  then 
society  had  not  arrived  at  the  state  where  it  is  to-day,  when  a 
man  is  permitted,  if  not  encouraged,  to  be  gross  in  the  best 
society,  and  may  tell  with  impunity  in  Belgravia  and  May 
Fair  Ion  mots  (?)  culled  a  good  deal  farther  north  or  a  very 
little  farther  south  of  those  aristocratic  localities. 

Every  one  knew  that  Captain  Beauregard  had  no  intention 


MIGNON.  87 

of  marrying.  Dowered  maidens  and  wealthy  widows  had 
flung  themselves  at  his  head,  ready  and  willing  to  worship 
him  with  their  bodies  and  endow  him  with  all  their  worldly 
goods ;  but  he  did  not  permit  the  sacrifice :  he  had  enough 
to  live  upon  like  a  gentleman ;  all  the  best  houses  in  the 
kingdom  were  open  to  him, — all  but  a  few  which  he  had 
closed  forever  upon  himself.  When  he  paid  such  devotion  to 
Miss  Sefton,  no  one  made  much  remark  about  it:  it  was 
Beauregard's  way  to  single  out  a  fresh  woman  every  season  : 
the  only  thing  that  was  unusual  was  his  wasting  so  much 
time  on  an  ingenue.  Lady  Wyvenhoe  was  rather  pleased 
at  his  attention  to  her  neice  :  nothing  brought  a  girl  more  into 
notice  than  Captain  Beauregard's  approval. 

"  It  is  a  great  compliment  to  you,  my  dear,"  she  said  to 
Olga.  "  He  is  not  a  marrying  man,  but  he  will  draw  others. 
Only  be  sure  not  to  lose  your  heart  to  him." 

Olga  only  replied  by  a  pensive  smile.  In  her  own  heart 
she  was  quite  sure,  as  many  a  woman  had  been  before,  that  he 
loved  her.  It  was  true  he  had  never  told  her  so,  never  breathed 
a  word  that  the  wiliest  of  her  sex  could  have  construed  into  a 
hint  of  marriage  ;  but  Olga  did  not  look  so  far  ahead  as  that : 
her  pure,  fresh  young  heart,  unbreathed  upon  by  any  other 
love,  was  his  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  nay,  given  without  any 
asking,  amply  repaid,  she  thought,  by  the  preference  he  seemed 
to  give  her.  But  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  without  a  shadow  of 
vanity,  she  believed  he  loved  her  as  she  loved  him :  those 
wonderful  eyes  of  his  told  her  so,  and  she  would  have  staked 
her  life  upon  their  truth.  Every  one  else  knew  strange  stories 
of  ruined  hearths  and  lives  laid  waste  that  the  wonderful  eyes 
had  had  their  share  in,  but,  somehow,  people  never  told  that 
kind  of  story  in  Olga's  presence.  It  was  "  always  the  woman's 
fault,"  women  said.  Captain  Beauregard  had  invariably  be- 
haved like  a  gentleman,  was  ready  to  give  any  satisfaction 
demanded  of  him,  and  once,  when  his  adversary  had  sworn 
to  have  his  life,  had  fired  in  the  air.  It  was  impossible  to  look 
at  him,  to  witness  his  quiet,  irreproachable  demeanor,  and  to 
believe  he  had  ever  led  a  woman  into  error.  Absurd  !  it  was 
her  own  wilful  wickedness.  There  were  some  women,  how- 
ever, with  stainless  reputations,  who  did  not  agree  to  this 
verdict.  Nevertheless  they  did  not  think  fit  to  negative  it. 

What  Captain  Beauregard  felt  for  Olga  it  is  not  easy  to  de- 


88  MIONON. 

cidc.  That  she  possessed  some  charm  for  him  was  evident 
from  the  time  he  devoted  to  her.  It  may  have  been  her  fresh- 
ness, her  purity,  her  arch  gayety,  the  unmistakable  presence  of 
a  heart  and  soul  that  the  touch  of  his  master-hand  had  called 
forth  ;  it  may  have  been  that  she  awoke  in  him  the  possibility 
of  a  nobler  and  better  future,  awoke  the  power  to  believe 
what  he  had  disbelieved  so  utterly  till  now,  that  passion  may 
mingle  with  reverence,  and  that  there  is  a  love  which  defies 
satiety. 

Olga's  ardent  nature  did  battle  royal  with  her  pride.  She 
cared  for  nothing  in  the  wide  world  but  to  be  near  him  ;  she 
only  counted  the  hours  when  he  was  present ;  her  heart  beat 
with  triumph  when  he  approached  her,  her  lustrous  eyes 
shone  with  tenfold  fire  as  she  welcomed  him ;  and  yet  she  was 
fighting  with  all  her  might  not  to  show  what  she  felt  to  the 
world.  From  him,  believing  what  she  did  in  her  innocent 
heart,  she  had  no  faintest  desire  of  concealment :  if  there 
were  glory  or  triumph  to  him  in  her  poor  love,  let  him  drink 
the  cup  to  the  last  drop.  Olga  was  passionately  fond  of  dan- 
cing, but  the  most  rapture-breathing  strains,  the  most  perfectly 
accomplished  partner,  could  give  her  no  joy  like  that  she  felt 
when  she  laid  her  little  hand  on  Oliver  Beauregard's  arm  when 
the  dance  was  over  and  he  took  her  away  to  get  cool,  or  to 
find  her  aunt,  or  whatever  the  pretext  might  be.  Captain 
Beauregard  did  not  dance. 

Colonel  Sefton  was  in  Norway.  After  the  first  two  or 
three  weeks  of  attendance  upon  his  daughter,  he  left  her  to  his 
sister's  care.  London  seasons  had  become  a  weariness  to  his 
flesh.  Had  her  father  been  with  her,  he  would  certainly  not 
have  permitted  her  to  see  so  much  of  Captain  Beauregard  ; 
but  he  was  innocently  fishing  the  deep  pools  for  big  salmon 
and  going  placidly  to  bed  by  daylight  in  the  Norway  summer 
nights.  Lady  Wyvenhoe  was  unsuspicious:  she  saw  that 
( )l-a  liked  to  talk  to  Captain  Beauregard,  but  she  also  seemed 
to  take  pleasure  in  the  society  of  other  men.  When  Olga  re- 
fused a  very  eligible  offer  of  marriage,  her  ladyship  was  a 
little  puzzled  and  vexed :  still,  the  girl  was  only  eighteen ;  there 
was  plenty  of  time. 

The  season  came  to  an  end  at  last.  Olga,  heavy-hearted, 
went  back  to  The  Manor  House. 


MIGNON.  89 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  A  little  sorrow,  a  little  pleasure, 
Fate  metes  us  from  the  dusty  measure 

That  holds  the  date  of  all  of  us  j 
"We  are  born  with  travail  and  strong  crying, 
And  from  the  birth-day  to  the  dying 
The  likeness  of  our  life  is  thus." 

SWINBURNE. 

DURING  her  absence,  Olga  had  written  frequently  to  Mrs. 
Forsyth, —  not  so  voluminously  nor  so  gushingly  as  the  heroine 
of  "  Sir  Charles  Grandison"  to  her  "  dearest  Lucy,"  but  she  had 
found  time  to  keep  her  friend  au  courant  of  her  proceedings. 
Strange  to  say,  she,  who  had  never  had  a  secret,  scarce  a 
thought,  from  Mrs.  Forsyth  before,  had  only  written  of  Cap- 
tain Beauregard  in  the  most  casual  manner.  She  was  resolved 
to  keep  her  secret,  ignorant  of  the  extreme  hardship  of  the 
task  she  was  setting  herself.  Olga,  with  her  impetuous  na- 
ture, her  keen  want  of  sympathy,  could  not  play  her  part  long : 
her  heart  was  yearning  to  talk  of  the  dear  one,  to  pronounce 
his  name  and  to  hear  it  from  other  lips.  It  is  dull  work 
writing  the  darling  name  a  thousand  times  to  tear  into  frag- 
ments next  moment :  whispering  it  to  the  birds,  the  flowers, 
the  rushes,  gives  scant  comfort ;  day-dreams,  when  no  longer 
fed  by  reality,  grow  tame  and  flat ;  memory  without  certainty 
of  the  future  waxes  easily  from  joy  to  pain.  On  the  third 
day  after  her  return,  Olga,  sitting  on  the  grass  at  her  friend's 
feet,  with  the  July  sun  filtering  through  the  trees  upon  her 
ardent,  upturned  face,  made  her  confession  with  a  beating 
heart  and  little  trembling  fingers  that  plucked  nervously  at 
her  gown,  but  eyes  radiant,  luminous,  great  with  love  and 
hope. 

How  could  she  guess  that  the  woman  to  whom  she*  was 
making  her  tender  confidences  was  pitying,  not  congratulating 
her,  in  her  heart,  though  her  face  smiled  sympathy  ?  Mrs. 
Forsyth  thought  all  men  selfish,  false,  cruel.  Her  own  ex- 
perience had  been  unfortunate.  The  one  she  had  given  all 

8* 


90  MIGNON. 

-- 

her  young  heart  to,  abandoned  her  for  a  rich  bride  ;  the  one 
!»he  married,  and  who  professed  boundless  love  for  her,  ill 
treated  her  from  a  month  after  their  marriage  until  his  death 
three  years  later.  So  she  disbelieved  utterly  in  men,  and 
would  fain,  for  Olga's  sake,  have  brought  her  up  in  her  own 
faith'  or  want  of  it,  but  refrained.  "  It  is  no  use,"  she  told 
herself:  "  she  is  a  woman  :  she  must  suffer.  Some  day,  when 
she  has  lost  her  first  illusions,  I  will  give  her  the  weapons  she 
wants :  they  would  be  no  use  without  the  experience." 

Olga,  with  radiant  eyes  and  a  flush  of  tender  color  in  her 
face,  is  telling  her  story.  With  fond  hands  Mrs.  Forsyth 
caresses  the  shapely  head,  with  smiling  eyes  she  looks  into 
the  bright,  triumphant  ones  upturned  to  hers,  with  willing, 
untired  ears  she  listens  to  the  praises  that  glorify  the  girl's 
idol.  Surely  no  man  was  ever  so  noble,  so  altogether  worthy 
a  woman's  love,  before  !  Mrs.  Forsyth  listens  with  a  face  that 
expresses  only  sympathy,  but  in  her  heart  there  lurks  a  grave 
mistrust.  She  sees  in  Captain  Beauregard,  even  from  the 
girl's  innocent,  enthusiastic  description,  not  the  true  knight, 
the  Launcelot  of  Olga's  dreams, — only  a  man  sated,  world- 
worn,  in  search  of  a  fresh  emotion  and  regardless  at  what  cost 
to  this  poor  child  he  gratifies  it.  But  it  is  too  late  to  warn  her 
now :  let  her  taste  the  only  bliss  she  is  likely  ever  to  extract 
from  it,  the  delight  of  dreaming  and  talking  of  her  love. 

And  so  Olga  enjoyed  a  short  sweet  trance  of  bliss.  But,  as 
the  days  crept  on,  nor  talking  nor  dreaming  could  satisfy  the 
hunger  of  her  heart :  she  had  a  wild  longing  to  see  him  again, 
to  hear  the  caressing  tones  of  his  voice,  to  meet  the  gaze  of 
his  love-speaking  eyes.  She  wondered  painfully  if  he  had  not 
the  same  desire,  if  his  life  too  did  not  lack  something  away 
from  her ;  not  as  hers  did, — no !  young  as  she  was,  she  felt 
love  could  not  be  the  all-absorbing  thing  to  a  man  it  is  to  a 
woman ;  but  still,  if  he  loved  her  as  she  believed  he  did,  he 
would  feel  a  yearning  for  the  sight  of  her,  and  then  he  would 
come  to  her.  She  remembered  how  it  had  pained  her  at  the 
time  that  he  had  not  said  anything  definite  about  seeing  her 
again ;  he  had  asked  if  she  were  going  to  Scotland,  and  ex- 
pressed himself  disappointed  when  she  answered  in  the  nega- 
tive. She  began  to  grow  pale  and  hollow-eyed,  to  have  pas- 
sionate fits  of  crying,  to  lie  awake  at  night,  to  be  filled  with  a 
wild  desire  to  see  him,  even  to  go  to  him. 


MIGNON.  91 

Mrs.  Forsyth  saw  it  all,  longed  to  help  her,  but  knew  not 
how.  Six  weeks  had  passed  away  since  her  return:  August 
was  waning.  One  day  Mrs.  Forsyth,  reading  the  county 
paper,  came  upon  the  following  paragraph : 

"  Esclandre  in  high  life.  Considerable  excitement  has  been 
created  in  the  highest  circles  by  the  elopement  of  Lady  C. 

N d  with  Captain  the  Hon.  0 :r  B r d.  It 

appears  both  were  on  a  visit  at  S Castle,  where  a  large 

party  had  assembled  for  grouse-shooting.  Some  words  passed 
between  Lady  C.  and  her  husband  with  regard  to  Captain  B.'s 
attentions,  and  the  next  day  both  the  lady  and  her  lover  were 
missing.  It  is  believed  that  their  destination  is  the  Continent. 
There  are  various  rumors  afloat  concerning  the  action  decided 
upon  by  the  injured  husband :  some  assert  that  he  started 
immediately  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives,  bent  on  chastising  the 
seducer,  others  say  that  he  will  await  his  revenge  at  the  hands 
of  Sir  Creswell  Creswell." 

Mrs.  Forsyth  put  down  the  paper  and  reflected.  She  was 
not  surprised,  hardly  sorry,  but  she  could  not  bear  the  thought 
of  Olga's  suffering.  How,  with  her  impetuous  passionate 
nature,  she  would  suffer !  what  an  awful  wrench  it  must  be 
to  tear  all  the  love  and  faith  and  trust  out  of  such  a  heart  as 
hers! 

A  long  time  elapses.  Olga  comes  in.  Mrs.  Stratheden  and 
her  cousin  are  out  driving. 

"  Ma  chere,"  says  the  girl  (she  always  calls  her  thus), 
"  how  melancholy  you  look  !  What  is  the  matter?" 

"  Come  here,  darling."  And  Olga  sits  down  at  her  friend's 
feet. 

Mrs.  Forsyth  lays  her  hand  caressingly  on  the  shining  hair, 
and  looks  at  her  with  troubled  eyes. 

"  Olga,  do  you  know  why  women  were  sent  into  the  world?" 

"  To  love  and  be  loved,"  Olga  answers,  with  smiling  eyes. 
The  second  post  has  just  brought  her  a  letter  from  Lady 
Wyvenhoe,  in  which  she  mentions  having  heard  from  Captain 
Beauregard,  who  had  asked  after  her  niece  and  hoped  she  had 
not  quite  forgotten  him. 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Forsyth  answers.  "  To  love  and  to  be  repaid 
by  cruelty,  by  treachery,  by  falsehood ;  to  be  made  a  tool  of, 
a  vehicle  for  men's  amusement,  and  then  to  be  dropped  for  a 
newer  toy." 


92  MIGNON. 

"  Ma  chere,"  cries  Olga,  lifting  eyes  that  have  both  pain 
and  wonder  in  them,  to  her  friend's  face,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  My  poor  little  darling !"  whispers  Mrs.  Forsyth,  and  puts 
both  her  arms  round  the  girl,  as  if  she  could  shelter  her  by 
her  embrace  from  the  woes  of  the  soul  as  she  might  from  the 
dangers  of  the  body. 

A  look  of  terror  comes  into  Olga's  face  and  blanches  it : 
she  looks  as  though  she  had  seen  some  ghastly  sight.  Her 
heart  beats  so  loud,  she  can  hear  it. 

"  Tell  me,  oh,  tell  me  quick  !"  she  gasps. 

Mrs.  Forsyth  gives  her  the  paper  and  shuts  her  eyes :  she 
does  not  want  to  witness  the  slaying  of  trust  and  faith  in  the 
child's  heart. 

Olga  reads,  re-reads,  and  reads  again.  A  dull,  dazed  feeling 
has  come  across  her  after  the  first  shock. 

"  Ma  chere,"  she  says,  in  a  low,  quiet  voice,  leaning  her 
cheek  on  her  hand  and  looking  up  with  unfaltering  eyes,  "why 
did  you  not  tell  me  before  ?" 

"  Tell  you  what,  my  darling?" 

"  All  the  while  that  I  have  been  talking  such  nonsense  to 
you  about  him,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  he  was  laughing 
at  me  and  amusing  himself?  I  wonder"  (breaking  off)  "  if 
she  is  very  lovely.  How  she  must  have  loved  him  to  give  up 
everything  for  him!"  And  then  she  rises  and  goes  towards 
the  door,  taking  the  paper  with  her. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  darling  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  my  own  room.  Don't  come  to  me  yet.  1 
want  to  think."  Then,  with  a  wan  smile  as  she  sees  her 
friend's  grieved  face,  "  You  see  I  take  it  very  well,  do  I  not  ? 
I  shall  soon  get  over  it." 

And  she  goes, — goes  and  hides  herself  in  her  chamber,  and 
cries  out  her  passionate  farewell  to  love  and  hope,  and  wonders, 
as  the  young  do,  how  the  sun  can  shine,  and  the  birds  sing, 
and  life  go  on  just  the  same  as  if  her  heart  were  not  broken. 

And  Mrs.  Forsyth,  knowing  what  is  best  for  her,  leaves  her 
to  fight  out  her  long  agony,  and  makes  excuse  for  her  absence, 
and  then  at  sundown  goes  to  her. 

"  It  is  I,  dearest :  let  me  in  !"  And  Olga  unbars  the  door. 
Her  eyes  are  dim  and  heavy  with  long  weeping ;  her  hands 
are  nerveless  ;  she  is  all  unstrung. 

Mrs.  Forsyth  unbinds  her  hair,  bathes  her  aching  head, 


MIGNON.  93 

makes  her  eat  and  drink,  puts  her  to  bed,  and  stays  with  her 
until,  worn  out,  she  falls  asleep.  All  night  through  Olga 
sleeps  the  sound  sleep  of  youth. 

Who  has  not  known  the  awful  misery  of  waking  to  the 
memory  of  some  great  grief? — the  first  dim  consciousness  of 
something  wrong,  the  gradual  dawning  remembrance,  until  the 
hideous  shape  stands  revealed  in  all  its  horror. 

The  days  go  by  somehow.  Autumn  comes,  and  changes  the 
green  of  summer  to  gold  and  bronze,  to  crimson  and  russet.  It 
gladdens  the  hearts  of  the  sportsmen,  and  rings  the  death-knell 
of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  little  plump  soft-breasted  birds 
which  in  dying,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  fulfil  the  purpose  of  their 
being.  Autumn,  with  its  fair  hot  noons  and  early  twilights, 
its  picturesque,  harmonious-colored  decay,  its  gaudy  scentless 
flowers,  its  ruddy  golden  sunsets,  thick  dews,  and  chilly  nights. 
Winter  follows. 

"The  horn  of  the  hunter  is  heard  on  the  hill," 

or  more  probably  in  the  vale  ;  the  scarlet  coats  come  out,  and 
the  glossy  hunters,  like  giants  refreshed  after  their  long  sum- 
mer of  idleness,  are  keen  and  full  of  life :  the  hounds  are 
thirsting  for  Reynard's  blood.  Let  him  garner  up  his  store 
of  cunning :  he  will  want  it,  poor  beast !  Sport,  always  sport ! 
something  must  be  torn  and  maimed,  must  suffer  and  die,  to 
appease  the  lust  of  blood  in  man's  heart.  It  is  the  old  savage 
instinct  of  the  race,  that  finds  comparatively  harmless  vent  in 
the  slaughter  of  small  defenceless  things  nowadays.  But  it  is 
a  glorious  thing  to  be  a  sportsman  ! — it  is  for  women  to  be 
tender-hearted :  would  to  heaven  they  all  were  ! 

Winter  !  leaves  falling  or  fallen  everywhere ;  the  coverts  are 
clearing  of  their  tangle  of  wild  flowers  and  fern  and  grasses ; 
it  is  all  one  brown,  sodden,  uudistinguishable  mass  now,  and 
will  no  longer  hide  the  gorgeous  pheasants  or  the  frightened 
little  rabbits.  The  frost  has  stripped  the  leaves  from  the  red 
berries  in  the  hedges ;  the  sun  is  so  far  off  he  can  scarce  be 
felt ;  the  warmth  is  within  now,  and  the  women  read  or  work 
and  wax  confidential  over  the  crackling  logs ;  it  is  getting  too 
cold  to  go  out  with  the  shooters'  lunch,  and  there  is  more 
hunting  than  shooting  now.  They  drive  to  the  meet  some- 
times, but  it  is  not  very  satisfactory  :  men  are  thinking  a  good 
deal  more  of  the  day's  business  than  of  daintily  be-wrapped 


94  MIGNON. 

and  be-furred  fair  ones,  and  are  devoutly  wishing  those  who 
have  elected  to  go  en  Amazone  and  hint  at  following,  out  of 
the  way. 

George  Stratheden  is  a  mighty  hunter,  and,  unlike  most 
men,  is  always  wanting  the  object  of  his  affections  to  do  like- 
wise. Olga  is  a  fearless  and  most  graceful  rider,  but  she  never 
goes  a-hunting, — thinks  it  unfcminine.  She  generally  rides 
to  the  meet  and  returns  with  her  groom  as  soon  as  they  find. 

Poor  George  is  more  deeply  in  love  than  ever,  and,  now  that 
in  her  wrath  against  his  sex  she  has  dropped  the  old  cousinly 
affectionate  manner  towards  him  and  treats  him  with  some- 
thing of  scorn  and  impatience,  his  love  takes  new  fire  from 
her  disdain.  She  is  callous  to  his  sufferings :  she  has  adopted 
Mrs.  Forsyth's  theory.  When  a  man  wants  a  woman,  she  is 
his  tyrant ;  when  he  has  her,  she  is  his  slave.  It  is  better  to 
be  tyrant  than  slave.  Mrs.  Forsyth  no  longer  refrains  from 
indoctrinating  Olga  with  her  own  opinions,  and  Olga  is  hard- 
ening her  heart  against  men  as  though  they  were  the  natural 
enemies  of  her  sex. 

So  poor  George  wooes  and  prays  and  pleads  in  vain  :  Olga 
tells  him  frankly  she  will  never  be  his  wife,  never.  He  vows 
she  shall,  and  in  the  end  he  has  his  way.  This  is  how  it  comes 
to  pass.  One  day  he  goes  out  hunting,  strong  and  fair  and 
stalwart,  and  four  hours  later  he  is  brought  home  with  a  broken 
back,  and  three,  four  days',  or  it  may  be  at  most  a  week's, 
life  left  in  him.  One  half  of  him  is  alive ;  he  is  perfectly 
sensible,  can  speak  and  move  his  hands,  his  head,  his  arms ; 
the  other  half  is  dead  as  marble,  as  clay.  He  insists  on  know- 
ing the  truth :  so  they  tell  him.  He  bears  it  bravely.  A 
slight  quiver  of  the  lips,  a  momentary  dimness  of  his  blue 
eyes,  are  the  only  signs  he  gives  of  weakness.  And  yet  to  be 
cut  off  in  the  heyday  of  his  youth  and  strength,  with  all  that 
makes  life  worth  having,  before  him,  to  go  out  alone  into  the 
dark  cruel  night  of  death  and  leave  behind  those  things  that 
seem  even  fairer  and  dearer  now  he  must  say  good-by  to  them 
forever !  He  only  expresses  two  wishes.  He  would  be  buried 
in  his  red  coat,  and  he  would  have  Olga  marry  him. 

"  Mother !"  he  says  in  the  night,  as  she  is  sitting  heart- 
broken by  his  bedside,  "  I  could  die  happy  if  Olga  would  be 
my  wife.  It  is  not  only  a  whim,  dear.  You  know  Uncle 
Charles  is  not  very  well  off:  we  have  no  near  relation  we  care 


MIGNON.  95 

for,  and  your  tastes  are  very  simple :  you  have  this  house  for 
your  life,  and  more  income  than  you  spend.  I  should  like  to 
leave  all  I  have  that  you  do  not  want  or  care  for  to  Olga ;  and 
if  she  were  my  wife  it  would  not  seem  strange,  but  would  be 
hers  of  right." 

What  could  he  have  asked  his  mother,  living,  that  she 
would  not  have  granted  ?  dying — how  much  more  ! 

Colonel  Sefton,  who  has  been  telegraphed  for,  gives  his  con- 
sent. Olga  is  net  told  a  word  about  the  money  :  they  guess 
rightly  that  such  knowledge  would  be  the  greatest  barrier  to 
her  granting  his  wish.  She  is  broken-hearted :  now  that  it  is 
too  Tate,  she,  like  the  rest  of  us,  would  sacrifice  anything, 
everything,  to  save  him. 

And  so  the  special  license  is  procured,  and  the  bishop  bid- 
den, and  the  poor  dying  lad  joyfully  takes  his  grief-stricken 
bride  for  the  short  time  that  remains  until  death  them  do  part. 
Sure  no  sadder  wedding  was  ever  celebrated  on  God's  earth 
than  this  one ! — the  poor  mother  weeping  piteously  in  Mrs. 
Forsyth's  arms,  who  herself  is  quivering  with  sobs  and  using 
the  strongest  effort  of  her  will  to  be  calm ;  Olga  with  rivers 
of  tears  raining  from  her  eyes,  and  her  hands  pressed  convul- 
sively against  her  breast  to  check  its  agonized  heaving ;  Colonel 
Sefton  biting  his  lips  hard  as  he  holds  his  daughter  with  one 
hand  and  brushes  away  the  tears  that  will  rise  with  the  other ; 
even  the  bishop  with  dim  eyes  and  tremulous  voice  and  a 
strange,  unwonted  thickness  in  the  voice  that  is  celebrated  for 
its  clearness. 

"  Little  wife !  darling  wife  !"  the  word  is  scarcely  ever  off  the 
poor  lad's  dying  lips :  its  utterance  seems  to  give  him  infinite 
pleasure.  He  will  have  her  sign  her  new  name,  Olga  Strath- 
eden,  and  show  to  him  ;  he  bids  those  about  him  address  her 
as  Mrs.  Stratheden,  and  has  even  heart  to  make  a  little  joke 
and  tell  his  mother  she  is  the  dowager  now ;  and  the  poor 
mother  smiles,  the  wannest,  sorrowfulest  smile  that  ever 
hovered  on  a  woman's  lips.  The  last  words  he  utters  are, 
"  Good-night,  little  darling  wife." 

They  say  people  don't  die  of  broken  hearts.  Mrs.  Strath- 
eden died  four  months  after  her  son.  The  doctors  could  not 
tell  what  she  died  of:  she  ought  to  have  lived  to  a  hundred, 
they  said.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  legacies,  she  also 
left  everything  to  her  niece.  Olga,  a  young  girl  of  nineteen, 


96  MIGNON. 

was  a  rich  widow  about  whom  every  one  was  talking.  But 
she  loathed  her  riches,  and  was  inconsolable  for  her  aunt  and 
cousin,  nay,  her  husband, — strange  thought!  At  last  Colonel 
Sefton  insisted  on  taking  her  abroad  for  change  of  scene,  Mrs. 
Forsyth  of  course  accompanying  them.  Everywhere,  the 
young  girl,  travelling  in  widow's  weeds,  excited  curiosity  and 
attention.  This  was  odious  to  Olga:  it  seemed  a  mockery, 
besides  ;  but  custom  exacted  it. 

They  travelled  for  a  year,  by  the  end  of  which  time  Olga 
had  recovered  her  health  and  spirits  and  had  begun  to  find  it 
pleasant  to  be  rich  and  considered.  She  went  into  society. 
Her  godmother's  daughter,  married  to  a  llussian  prince  of 
distinction,  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  she  became  the  fashion 
in  Paris.  There  she  acquired  the  art  of  dress,  perfection  in 
the  language,  and  the  additional  charm  of  manner  which  no 
people  possess  to  a  greater  degree  than  high-bred  Frenchwomen. 
Wherever  she  went,  she  excited  interest  and  curiosity :  her 
really  strange  story  was  made  ten  times  stranger  by  repetition  : 
she  was  reported  to  be  fabulously  rich.  She  had  princes, 
statesmen,  soldiers  at  her  feet, — men  who  loved  her  for  what 
she  had, — men  who  loved  her  for  what  she  was.  Be  it  con- 
fessed, she  treated  them  with  some  cruelty:  she  refused  to 
believe  men  could  suffer  from  love :  if  they  did,  tant  mieux, — 
she  was  probably  avenging  some  other  woman. 

Captain  Beauregard,  coming  to  Paris,  having  left  Lady  C. 

N to  a  dull  repentance  or  a  shameful  notoriety  in  some 

disreputable  continental  town,  heard  of  Olga's  fame.  It  was 
not  long  before  they  met.  Mrs.  Stratheden  had  always  been 
preparing  for  this  contingency,  and  was  able  to  meet  the  man 
who  had  spoiled  her  life  as  a  mere  casual  acquaintance.  They 
met  often.  Captain  Beauregard,  piqued  by  her  indifference, 
which  was  apparently  sincere,  used  every  art  he  was  master 
of  to  win  back  her  regard.  He  was  falling  desperately  in  love 
with  her, — he  who  had  never  allowed  a  woman  to  be  anything 
more  to  him  than  a  momentary  passion,  a  passing  caprice. 
He  began  to  suffer  what  she  had  suffered,  what  many  a  woman 
had  suffered  for  his  sake. 

Olga  never  gave  him  any  chance  of  seeing  her  in  private ; 
indeed,  she  never  received  any  man  unless  her  father  or  Mrs. 
Forsyth  were  present.  One  afternoon,  however,  she  was  alone : 
the  servants  believed  Colonel  Sefton  to  be  with  her,  but  he 


MIGNON.  97 

had  gone  out  without  their  perceiving  it.  At  last  the  oppor- 
tunity comes  that  Captain  Beauregard  has  so  ardently  desired: 
he  has  come  to  call,  and  is  ushered  into  the  room  where  Olga 
is  alone.  If  she  is  not  beautiful,  nothing  can  be  more  gracious 
or  elegant  than  Mrs.  Stratheden:  she  has  something  more 
fascinating  than  mere  beauty ;  she  is  only  a  girl,  and  yet  no 
woman  breathing  could  have  more  tact,  more  self-possession, 
combined  with  the  most  perfect  womanliness.  Captain  Beau- 
regard,  who  has  never  in  his  life  dreamed  of  asking  a  woman 
to  marry  him,  feels  capable  of  the  stupendous  sacrifice  as  he 
looks  at  her.  He  comes  up  to  her,  takes  her  hands,  looks  at 
her  with  eyes  that  have  all  their  old  fascination  and  more,  since 
his  soul  shines  through  them,  and  says, — 

"  Olga,  have  you  forgotten  ?" 

She  meets  his  look  with  a  steadfast  gaze.  His  voice  and  eyes 
have  still  something  of  their  old  power  over  her,  but  she  has 
not  acted  over  this  scene  a  thousand  times  to  herself  for  nothing. 

There  is  the  least  quiver  of  her  lip,  the  least  tremor  in  her 
voice,  as  she  answers, — 

"  No,  I  have  forgotten  nothing." 

11  You  have  heard  evil  reports  of  me,"  he  says,  hurriedly. 
"Nay,  I  do  not  want  to  defend  myself:  you  can  have  heard 
nothing  so  bad  of  me  as  what  I  feel  myself  deserving  of  at 
this  moment ;  but  give  me  a  chance ;  let  me  try  to  be  some- 
thing better  in  the  future  for  your  sake !" 

Oliver  Beauregard  has  never  in  his  life  until  to-day  hum- 
bled himself  before  a  woman, — has  never  even  felt  conscious 
of  the  superiority  of  one :  he  has  always  been  the  sportsman, 
they  the  game  to  be  snared  or  trapped  or  carried  off  by  a 
strong  arm.  Now  he  feels  himself  genuinely  the  inferior  of 
this  slight  girl. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  utters  Olga,  the  tears  standing  in  her  proud 
eyes.  "  I  have  thought  sometimes  that  such  a  thing  as  this 
might  happen  one  day,  and  I  always  meant  to  say  this  to  you, 
not  in  any  set  words"  (putting  her  hand  to  her  head),  "  I  have 
forgotten  the  words,  but  the  sense  is  this.  It  seems  a  light 
thing  to  you  to  destroy  women's  reputations,  women's  souls : 
perhaps"  (with  a  shade  of  scorn)  "  you  do  not  believe  they 
have  any.  Women  are  fair  game  for  you.  Well,  perhaps 
some  of  them  are:  I  have  seen  something  of  the  world  lately, 
and  know  more  of  its  ways  than  when  I  met  you  first.  But 


98  MIONON. 

is  it  a  light  thing,  do  you  think"  (passionately),  "  to  take  a 
girl's  heart,  a  heart  quite  pure  and  fresh  and  full  of  innocent 
faith,  a  heart  that  believes  in  the  man  who  makes  her  love 
him  as  she  believes  in  heaven,  to  take  it  just  for  sport's  sake, 
and  then  to  fling  it  away  to  break  or  to  wither  ?  You  have 
spoiled  my  life  ;  you  have  turned  my  faith  into  doubt ;  you 
have  made  me  read  falsehood  on  the  lips  that  perhaps  came  to 
me  with  truth  on  them ;  you  have  turned  the  sweet  of  all  my 
young  life  to  bitter,  and  made  me  incapable  of  tasting  the 
greatest  happiness  a  woman  can  know." 

"  Forgive  me !"  he  cries,  remorsefully.  "  Let  me  atone  to 
you.'' 

He  tries  to  take  her  hand ;  but  she  tears  it  from  him  and 
walks  away  to  the  end  of  the  room.  When  she  comes  back, 
she  is  smiling. 

"  I  have  finished  my  say,"  she  says,  quietly.  "  Let  us  talk 
of  something  else." 

"  Olga"  (passionately),  "  do  not  trifle  with  me.  My  whole 
life,  I  swear,  shah1  be  devoted  to  you.  Give  me  this  little 
hand " 

Olga  smiles  as  she  puts  it  in  his. 

"  Take  it  in  friendship,"  she  says.  "  Sooner  than  give  it 
you  as  you  ask  it,  I  would  hold  it  in  the  fire  and  let  it  burn 
like  Cranmer's." 

"  Are  you  so  unforgiving?"  he  says,  bitterly. 

"  No,"  she  answers,  looking  at  him  with  steadfast  eyes.  "  I 
have  forgiven  you  long  ago.  Will  you  do  something  for  my 
sake?" 

"  I  will." 

"  You  have  done  much  evil  in  your  day,"  she  says,  still  with 
her  brown  eyes  fixed  on  his  :  "  you  will  do  much  more  before 
you  die.  One  day  think  of  me,  and  spare  some  weak  woman's 
soul  for  my  sake." 

Then  she  turns  away  and  leaves  him.  In  the  solitude  of 
her  own  chamber  Olga  is  crying  her  heart  out.  Poor  child  ! 
she  loves  him  still. 

Captain  Beauregard  does  not  despair.  But  a  week  later, 
Colonel  Sefton  has  a  paralytic  seizure,  of  which  he  dies  in  a 
few  months.  It  is  long  ere  the  world  sees  Olga  again. 

So  much  for  retrospect.  Now  we  come  back  to  the  Olga  of 
to-day,  "  swaying  like  a  pond-lily  in  the  golden  afternoon." 


MIQNON.  99 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"Great  roses  stained  still  where  the  first  rose  bled, 
Burning  at  heart  for  shame  their  heart  withholds; 
And  the  sad  color  of  strong  marigolds, 
That  have  the  sun  to  kiss  their  lips  for  love ; 
The  flower  that  Venus'  hair  is  woven  of." 

St.  Dorothy. 

THE  Olga  of  to-day  is  lying  in  her  hammock,  with  eyes 
raised  heavenwards,  though  they  cannot  see  heaven  through 
the  green  labyrinths  of  leaves  that  hide  sky  and  sun,  all  but  a 
little  trickling  thread  here  and  there.  But  in  a  hammock  it 
is  easier  to  look  upward  than  downward.  Now  and  then,  for 
a  change,  she  glances  across  the  water  to  the  flower  rows, 
•where  the  old-fashioned  single  roses  flourish  on  their  sturdy 
bushes,  crimson,  and  pink,  and  pale  with  ruddy  stripes,  all- 
yellow-eyed,  gold-colored  ones,  too,  and  orange,  tiny  white 
ones,  and  great  soft  moss  roses.  Beneath  them  grow  great 
patches  of  sky-colored  nemophila  and  mignonette ;  and  there 
are  pansies  and  campanula,  eschscholtzia,  sweet-williams,  Can- 
terbury-bells, lavender,  southernwood,  and  sweetbrier ;  for 
these  are  not  the  show-gardens,  planted  in  stiff  patterns  of 
vivid  color,  but  the  old  flower-borders  by  "the  water-side  that 
Olga  loves  for  "  auld  acquaintance'  sake."  She  can  see  the 
cups  of  the  white  lilies  riding  on  their  broad  leaves  when  she 
looks  down,  and  shining  little  fish  leaping  against  the  sun, 
and  the  stately  swans  sailing  down  in  a  royal  progress  from 
end  to  end  of  the  lake ;  but  she  looks  oftener  upwards.  Her 
hands  are  folded  on  a  book  ;  it  is  a  volume  of  Alfred  de  Mus- 
set's :  she  has  been  reading,  not  for  the  first  time,  that  mor- 
bidly horrible  conception  of  his  that  is  clothed  in  such  ex- 
quisitely pathetic  language.  Who  would  think  the  charming 
adored  Mrs.  Stratheden,  who  has  everything  heart  can  desire 
(so  the  world  says),  is  also  given  to  indulging  in  morbid  fan- 
cies? Ay,  the  world,  the  busybody,  stupid,  short-sighted 
world,  that  is  so  glib  to  judge,  to  say  what  should  be,  and 
measures  the  length  and  breadth  and  depth  of  a  heart  with  its 
cramped  inch-measure  of  custom  and  probability. 


100  MIGNON. 

Olga  suffers  from  the  feeling  of  a  vie  manque'e.  She  asks 
herself  constantly  what  good  she  is  in  the  world.  Others 
could  answer  that  question  well  enough, — could  point  to  her 
poor,  her  model  cottages,  her  charities,  her  universal  sympathy 
for  every  living  being  who  needs  it.  Olga's  great  stumbling- 
block  is  the  gigantic  misery  of  the  whole  creation,  its  suffer- 
ings, its  sickness,  its  heartbreakings, — worst  and  chiefest  of  all, 
the  agony  in  its  animal  life.  She  carries  her  sympathy  for  the 
dumb  part  of  creation  to  excess:  at  least  her  friends  laugh 
and  say  so.  "  Most  people  who  have  hobbies,"  she  answers, 
smiling,  "  are  apt  to  over-ride  them  a  little.  When  I  die,  put 
over  my  grave,  '  The  animal's  friend,'  the  epitaph  /  should  be 
proudest  of."  Mrs.  Stratheden  never  calls  forth  the  animad- 
versions of  the  other  sex  by  joining  them  on  shooting-expedi- 
tions ;  she  would  not  see  bird  or  beast  shot  for  all  the  world 
(she  can  even  resist  the  fascinations  of  Hurlingham)  ;  she  is 
not  to  be  converted  to  the  delights  of  salmon-fishing ;  she  has 
earned  the  contempt  of  fair  ones  with  masculine  tastes  by  utterly 
refusing  to  assist  at  the  performance  of  some  favorite  terrier 
in  a  barn  full  of  rats, — contempt  reciprocated  fortyfold.  If 
there  is  one  thing  in  the  world  that  causes  Olga  to  forget  her 
gracious  tact,  it  is  cruelty  in  a  woman.  "  You  men,"  she  says, 
with  a  fin  sourire,  "  have  naturally  brutal  instincts  ;  I  suppose 
the  world  would  not  go  on,  and  we  should  not  care  for  you, 
without ;  but  a  cruel  woman  is  nature's  most  horrid  deformity." 

"But  you,"  replies  her  interlocutor,  "are  yourself  very 
cruel — to  men." 

"  I  would  rather  be  the  executioner  than  the  victim,"  she 
lauirhs.  "  With  you,  one  must  be  one  or  the  other." 

Olga  believes  this  firmly.  The  desire  of  her  life  is  to  love 
and  to  be  loved,  but  she  has  a  morbid  idea  that  love  cannot 
be  reciprocal.  More  than  once  she  has  been  on  the  point  of 
succumbing  to  a  lover's  entreaties,  and  has  done  violence  to 
herself  to  resist  them. 

"  If  I  married  him  and  grew  to  love  him  intensely,  as  I 
should  do,"  she  tells  herself,  "I  should  lose  my  power  over 
him ;  and  then  I  should  kill  myself." 

Besides  this,  Madam  Olga  is  tant  soil  peu  autocrafc  :  she 
has  held  the  reins  so  long,  she  is  not  quite  sure  whether  she 
could  yield  them  gracefully  to  any  one  else  now. 

"  Better  perhaps  as  it  is,"  she  decides,  with  a  sigh  that 


MIONON.  1-GJ, 

comes  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart ;  and  Mrs.  Forsyth  fosters 
this  view  of  the  case.  She  is  not  more  selfish  than  most 
people,  but  very  few  would  care  to  give  up  such  a  position  as 
hers.  She  has  as  much  benefit  and  enjoyment  out  of  Olga's 
possessions  as  Olga  herself;  more,  since  she  has  no  responsi- 
bility. She  has  immense  influence  over  her  former  pupil,  and 
possesses  her  sincere  and  hearty  affection ;  but  once  let  there 
come  a  master  at  The  Manor  House,  and  then,  instead  of 
honored  friend  and  confidante,  she  must  sink  into  an  unwel- 
come third.  To  retire,  upon  however  handsome  a  pension, 
would  be  to  lead  a  life  utterly  tame  and  dull  after  her  pleasant 
luxurious  one  with  Mrs.  Stratheden.  Mrs.  Forsyth  would 
never  have  been  guilty  of  unfair  means  to  compass  an  end, 
but  she  is  not  superior  to  taking  advantage  of  Olga's  doubts 
and  fears  to  retain  a  position  as  perfect  as  one  that  depends 
upon  another  person  can  possibly  be. 

Mrs.  Forsyth  has  come  at  last  to  a  feeling  of  pleasant  se- 
curity :  she  has  had  her  anxieties,  but,  now  that  Olga  has  come 
scathless  out  of  so  many  temptations  to  marriage,  has  refused 
devotion,  rank,  good  looks,  there  is  not  much  left  to  fear. 

And  yet,  if  ever  a  heart  ached  for  want  of  love  and  sym- 
pathy, it  was  Olga's ;  if  there  breathed  a  woman  (despite  her 
proud  exterior)  more  softly,  femininely  dependent  upon  the 
sterner  sex  than  another,  it  was  Olga ;  and  her  heart-hunger, 
instead  of  deadening  and  dying  out  with  time,  grew  stronger, 
keener,  harder  to  stifle,  as  the  years  rolled  by.  But  of  this 
her  friend  knew  and  guessed  nothing.  Her  experience  of 
men  had  been  bitter ;  she  had  leaned  upon  them,  and  they  as 
reeds  had  pierced  her  hand  :  she  never  wanted  to  lean  on  or 
trust  them  again,  to  hang  upon  their  smiles,  to  tremble  at 
their  frowns. 

Olga,  having  indulged  her  "sweet  and  bitter  fancies"  in  the 
"golden  afternoon,"  and  feeling  her  senses  rested  by  the  har- 
mony of  sight,  sound,  and  coloring  about  her,  begins  to  reflect 
that  time  is  drawing  on,  and  that  her  horse  will  soon  be  at  the 
door.  She  always  rides  or  drives  when  the  day  grows  cool. 
So  she  rises  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  puts  out  one  dainty  foot 
from  her  hammock,  but  gets  no  farther  at  present,  being  be- 
guiled by  the  scene  on  which  her  eyes  rest. 

"  How  wonderful  nature  is  !"  she  thinks,  dreamily.  "Now, 
if  half  a  dozen  people  began  to  sing  different  tunes  at  the 

9* 


•  1-02" .  •   ' '  MIGXON. 

same  time,  what  a  horrid  discord  it  would  make ;  but  a  thou- 
sand bird*  may  sing  at  once,  each  with  a  different  note,  and  it 
is  delicious  harmony.  If  you  put  red,  yellow,  green,  and  blue 
to-vther  in  art,  the  combination  is  hideous;  and  yet  what  can 
be  more  charming  than  that  patch  of  nemophila  and  esch- 
scholtzia  growing  under  those  clusters  of  red  roses  on  their 
i:ivui  bushes  ?  What  texture  did  art  ever  invent  comparable 
to  the  tissue  of  the  humblest  flower?  Ah,  Nature"  (sighing), 
"  the  only  thing  you  ever  failed  in  is  mankind :  when  you  be- 
stowed life  and  breath  and  speech  and  sight,  you  gave  up  your 
own  responsibility." 

After  this  apostrophe  to  the  universal  mother,  the  other 
little  foot  comes  out  of  the  hammock,  and  Olga  strolls  off  to- 
wards the  house.  The  stable  clock  strikes  five :  she  has 
ordered  her  horse  for  a  quarter-past,  so  she  quickens  her  steps. 
Mrs.  Stratheden  is  one  of  the  few  punctual  women  on  record. 
Strange  to  say,  she  does  not  avail  herself  of  her  unbounded 
liberty  to  keep  her  horses  and  servants  waiting  by  the  hour, 
nor  does  she  drive  her  cook  to  despair  by  coming  down  to 
dinner  when  everything  has  been  ready  an  unspecified  time, 
neither  does  she  exercise  that  truly  feminine  prerogative  of 
making  the  man  who  adores  her  wait  when  he  comes  to  see  or 
to  escort  her  to  some  place  of  entertainment :  this  pet  weak- 
ness of  her  sex  is  not  to  be  scored  against  Olga. 

She  has  retired  to  the  sacred  precincts  of  her  chamber  to  don 
her  habit,  and  whilst  Mrs.  Medly,  the  high-priestess  of  that 
temple,  is  engaged  upon  her  mysterious  rites,  we  can  stroll 
round  and  come  into  the  house  by  the  front  door,  as  strangers 
should  do. 

When  you  entered  the  hall  at  The  Manor  House,  you  felt  a 
st  ran  ire  desire  to  linger  there.  It  did  not  seem  as  though  any 
drawing-room,  morning-room,  or  boudoir  could  be  half  so  at- 
tractive or  offer  nearly  so  much  to  charm  the  eye.  In  winter 
it  i-  the  picture  of  comfort;  in  summer,  deliciously  cool  and 
J'nv  from  glare.  One  may  fancy  how  the  Yu\c  logs  crackle 
and  hla/e  in  that  vast  chimney  framed  in  carved  oak,  trans- 
formed now  into  a  nest  of  ferns  and  flowers.  In  winter  the 
floor,  polished  like  a  mirror,  is  carpeted  with  rare  skins  ;  now 
its  perfection  is  laid  bare,  except  where  a  strip  of  India  mat- 
ives  the  unwary  from  falling  headlong.  It  is  lighted  by 
a  window  big  enough  for  a  church ;  and,  truth  to  tell,  a  con- 


MIGNON.  103 

Bidcrable  portion  of  it  stood  for  centuries  in  an  Italian  chapel, 
casting  on  the  kneeling  worshippers  rays  of  a  southern  sun 
transmuted  into  such  gorgeous  hues  as  the  hand  of  the  crafts- 
man can  no  longer  create  to-day.  This  window  is  draped  by 
immense  curtains  of  deep-blue  velvet.  The  ceiling  ascends  to 
the  roof.  A  flight  of  broad  stairs  leads  up  to  the  window, 
then  diverges  into  two  flights  that  land  you  in  the  grand  old 
oaken  galleries  which  run  round  the  hall.  Everywhere  in  the 
hall  and  staircase  where  there  is  a  niche  or  vacant  spot  stand 
cabinets,  carvings,  empanelled  pictures,  stands  of  rare  china, 
curious  clocks,  brackets, — a  perfect  museum  of  curiosities. 
Every  object  is  beautiful  in  some  way,  artistic  in  form  or 
dainty  in  coloring  or  workmanship.  Olga  has  rare  taste. 
Nothing  recommends  itself  to  her  simply  because  it  is  old, 
uncommon,  or  grotesque,  unless  it  possesses  intrinsic  beauty  as 
well.  She  will  have  no  shams,  no  imitations,  if  she  knows 
it.  Well,  she  is  a  rich  woman,  and  can  afford  to  gratify  her 
expensive  tastes ;  but  I  am  very  much  tempted  to  think  that 
the  feminine  love  of  ornament  is  so  strong  in  her  that  if  she 
had  been  a  poor  seamstress  instead  of  a  grande  dame  she 
would  have  decorated  her  room  with  a  few  poor  flowers  in  a 
cheap  vase  and  any  little  knickknacks  the  savings  of  her  toil 
permitted.  Our  taste  very  often  hangs  upon  our  power  to 
gratify  it. 

I  said  that  on  entering  the  hall  a  stranger  felt  inclined  to 
linger ;  but  such  was  the  case  in  every  room  where  you  were 
ushered :  each  was  as  perfect  in  taste,  as  harmoniously  pleasing 
to  the  eye  and  stimulating  to  the  sense  of  curiosity.  There 
is  one  room,  hall,  nay,  I  know  not  what  to  call  it,  at  The  Manor 
House,  perfectly  unique  as  far  as  I  know,  never  having  seen  or 
heard  of  anything  similar  elsewhere.  Olga  had  it  built  after 
her  own  design,  and  calls  it  her  "  Folly."  It  opens  from  the 
entrance-hall  by  a  small  door  concealed  by  a  curtain  ;  it  is  not 
a  conservatory;  it  is  not  entirely  composed  of  glass;  it  is 
octagonal  in  shape,  has  a  glass  dome,  and  a  great  French 
window  in  every  octagon,  to  which  on  the  outside  there  are 
Venetian  shutters.  In  the  centre  a  fountain  plays  into  a 
marble  basin, — not  a  little  tinkling,  irritating,  scented  toy,  but 
a  fountain  that  throws  up  a  certain  volume  of  water  and  comes 
down  with  a  musical  splashing  sound.  Round  it  are  low  chairs 
and  couches,  some  of  cane,  some  brocaded  and  luxurious,  and 


104  MIGNON. 

the  marble  floor  is  laid  here  and  there  with  Eastern  rugs  or 
matting.  There  are  orange-trees  and  myrtles  and  rose-trees  in 
great  majolica  vases ;  ferns  and  mosses  hang  from  the  roof  in 
baskets  and  nestle  against  the  marble  basin  of  the  fountain  ; 
rare  creepers  hide  the  trellised  walls ;  there  are  a  few  flowers, — 
only  a  few,  for  the  predominant  color  is  the  cool  velvety  green 
of  leaves  and  mosses ;  and  here  and  there  are  five  of  the 
statues  of  the  world, — the  Venus  of  Medici,  of  Milo,  of  Canova, 
the  Apollo  Belvedere,  and  the  Perseus  of  the  Vatican.  Some- 
where hidden  behind  a  screen  of  leaves,  is  one  of  those  ex- 
quisite self-playing  organs.  It  is  not  a  resort  fit  alone  for  hot 
summer  days,  though  it  is  most  like  paradise  then,  but  can  be 
heated  to  any  temperature  by  invisible  hot- water  pipes. 

"  The  Folly  has  been  the  one  extravagance  of  my  life," 
Olga  says,  laughing,  "  and  I  have  never  repented  it.  Nothing 
soothes  me  like  the  sight  and  sound  of  water.  When  I  go 
away,  there  is  nothing  I  miss  so  much  as  my  fountain." 

I  will  spare  the  reader  any  more  "  upholstery"  for  the  pres- 
ent, and  emerge  again  from  the  hall  door,  where  Mrs.  Strathedeu 
has  sprung  this  moment  to  the  back  of  her  handsome  chest- 
nut. She  has  a  mania  for  that  color,  and  rarely  rides  or  drives 
any  other.  Mrs.  Forsyth  has  come  out  on  the  steps  as  usual 
to  see  her  off.  Olga  throws  her  a  smile  as  she  rides  away, 
with  the  head  groom,  a  triumph  of  art,  behind  her.  There  is 
never  any  slackness  about  Jenkins :  if  he  rode  behind  his 
mistress  every  day  in  the  country  for  ten  years  without  meet- 
ing a  soul,  his  own  attire,  his  bits  and  bridles,  would  be 'as 
faultless,  as  unimpeachable,  on  the  last  day,  as  though  they 
were  got  up  for  the  How.  Certainly  the  saddle  is  the  place 
to  see  Mrs.  Strathedeu :  I  am  not  sure  the  position  does  not 
rival  even  that  of  the  French  marquise.  Given  a  woman 
with  a  perfect  seat,  perfectly  mounted,  a  graceful  figure,  a 
small  head  coiled  round  with  glossy  hair,  a  face  piquante  and 
full  of  expression  if  not  absolutely  beautiful,  and  the  result 
must  needs  be  striking. 

Olga  rides  down  the  avenue  on  this  quiet  afternoon  all  un- 
prescient  how  much  of  fate  hangs  upon  the  decision  as  to 
whether  she  shall  turn  to  right  or  left  when  she  emerges  from 
the  park  gates.  Fate  decrees  that  she  shall  take  the  road 
across  the  common  to  Alington.  She  is  riding  down  a  green 
glade  now :  her  canter  has  brought  the  color  to  her  cheeks,  an 


MIGNON.  105 

additional  brightness  to  her  eyes :  she  feels  the  delicious  ex- 
hilaration that  nothing  but  riding  or  dancing  can  give.  At 
this  moment  she  is  conscious  of  the  want  of  sympathy  in  her 
pleasure.  It  is  not  far  off.  In  the  distance  she  descries  two 
horsemen  coming  towards  her,  and  feels  a  certain  curiosity  as 
to  who  they  may  be. 

"  It  cannot  be  Raymond,"  she  thinks :  "  he  never  comes 
home  so  early  as  this." 

Two  minutes  solve  all  doubts.  It  is  Raymond  L'Estrange 
and  another  young  fellow  about  the  same  age,  unknown  to 
Mrs.  Stratheden. 

Two  manly,  good-looking,  well-mounted  young  Englishmen 
of  a  certain  class  present  as  comely  a  sight  to  the  eye  on  a 
summer  evening  as  it  can  well  desire,  especially  to  a  woman's 
eye.  So  thinks  Olga,  .who  has  a  genuine  weakness  for  good 
looks.  Not  that  Mr.  L'Estrange's  companion  can  bear  com- 
parison with  him  as  far  as  positive  beauty  goes.  Raymond's 
every  feature  is  perfect ;  but  the  other  has  that  general  fresh 
Saxon  comeliness  that  a  dark-haired  woman  like  Olga  is  sure 
to  esteem  highly. 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you,"  cries  Raymond,  shaking  her 
by  the  hand  as  he  rides  up ;  and  his  looks  do  not  belie  his 
words.  "  Let  me  introduce  an  old  Eton  friend  to  you,  Mr. 
Vyner — Leo,  Mrs.  Stratheden."  Olga  does  not  content  her- 
self with  a  bow,  but  gives  the  stranger  her  hand  with  the 
frank  grace  that  so  well  becomes  her;  and  then  the  two  young 
men  turn  their  horses'  heads  and  ride  one  on  either  side  of 
her. 

"  How  is  it  you  have  left  town  so  early  this  year?"  Olga 
asks  of  Raymond. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  got  bored  with  the  heat  and  the  noise 
and  the  constant  whirl,  and  longed  for  the  country,  and  Leo, 
who  hates  London,  promised  to  come  with  me ;  but  now  that 
we  are  here  and  there  is  nothing  to  do, — no  shooting,  no  fish- 
ing,— we  are  at  our  wits'  end  to  kill  time,  and  have  some  idea 
of  going  to  Brittany,  or  Jersey,  or  Ems,  or  somewhere,  for  a 
change.  I  didn't  dare  disturb  your  solitude,  though  I  have 
been  longing  to,  and  there's  nobody  else  back  yet  but  the 
Foxes,  and  it's  no  fun  going  there  now  Kitty's  engaged." 

"  Then  it  is  really  settled  !" 

"  Settled  !  oh,  yes,  irrevocably.  Fancy  that  mercenary  little 
E* 


106  MIGNON. 

wretch  taking  a  dull  pompous  ass  like  Clover  just  for  the  sake 
of  being  *  My  lady,' — a  baronet  whose  father  was  a  mechanic," 
adds  Raymond,  with  the  conscious  disdain  of  a  man  able  to 
count  several  generations  of  ancestors  who  never  soiled  their 
hands  with  despicable  toil  nor  were  of  the  least  benefit  to  their 
kind. 

"  Poor  little  Kitty !  I  hope  she  will  be  happy,"  remarks 
Mrs.  Stratheden,  thoughtfully. 

"  Oh,  she'll  be  happy  enough  as  long  as  she  can  get  his 
money  to  spend.  She  hasn't  an  atom  of  heart,"  says  Raymond, 
who  has  a  slight  grudge  against  Kitty  for  the  flippant  way  in 
which  she  has  treated  his  attentions.  Not  that  he  had  ever 
thought  seriously  of  marrying  her,  but  little  Kitty  was  pretty, 
and  it  was  pleasant  to  spoon  her  when  there  was  nothing  else 
to  do,  as  at  the  present  moment.  He  felt  considerably  nettled 
at  her  preferring  Sir  Josias  Clover's  definite  intentions  to  his 
indefinite  ones. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Stratheden,"  he  says,  changing  the  subject, 
"  you  must  let  us  come  over  and  spend  the  day  to-morrow. 
We  won't  bore  you  very  much.  If  you  want  to  get  rid  of  us 
in  the  afternoon,  you  can  shut  us  up  in  the  Folly  and  let  us 
do  a  little  *  weeding.'  " 

Olga  laughs. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  are  most  welcome  to  come ;  but  how  do 
you  suppose  two  old  women  can  undertake  to  amuse  young 
men?" 

Mr.  Vyner  turns  and  looks  at  her,  thinking  it  a  little  bit  of 
uncalled  for  affectation  to  style  herself  an  old  woman  :  he  takes 
her  to  be  about  two  or  three-and-twenty. 

"  Leo  likes  old  women,"  answers  Raymond,  mischievously : 
"  at  least  I  conclude  so,  for  I  never  saw  him  devote  himself  to 
a  young  one." 

"  Perhaps  he  does  not  care  for  either,"  says  Olga,  turning 
to  him  with  a  smile.  "  I  have  heard  of  such  cases." 

Leo  colors  a  little. 

"  I  have  never  been  thrown  very  much  with  ladies,"  he  says : 
"  my  mother  is  dead,  and  I  have  no  sisters." 

u  He  thinks  of  nothing  but  sport,"  interrupts  Raymond, — 
"  sport  and  athletic  exercises,  and  fills  up  the  crevices  with 
smoking  and  reading." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  it  too  stupid  at  The  Manor  House," 


MIGNON.  107 

Bays  Olga,  addressing  hersolf  to  Leo.  "  As  for  this  boy,  I  have 
known  him  ever  since  he  was  in  petticoats,  and  he  comes  over 
when  he  feels  inclined,  makes  himself  perfectly  at  home,  and 
never  wants  any  entertaining." 

Leo,  as  he  says,  is  not  much  accustomed  to  ladies.  He  does 
not  exactly  know  what  sort  of  answer  is  expected  from  him, 
so  contents  himself  with  saying  that  if  it  will  not  inconveni- 
ence Mrs.  Stratheden,  it  will  give  him  much  pleasure  to  ac- 
company Ilaymond  on  the  morrow. 

When  they  have  wished  Olga  good-by,  Raymond  turns  to 
his  friend. 

"  Mind  you  don't  fall  in  love  with  her,"  he  says. 

Leo  laughs. 

"  Not  much  fear.  I  think  I  am  not  very  susceptible.  Is 
she  so  dangerous?" 

"  Ah,"  says  Raymond,  "  more  fellows  have  come  to  grief  over 
Olga  Stratheden  than  over  any  other  woman  I  ever  knew." 

"Really?"  utters  Leo,  indifferently. 

"  I  know  I  nearly  broke  my  heart  about  her  once,"  says 
Raymond.  "  But  that's  an  old  story ;  and  we're  the  best 
friends  in  the  world  now." 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  you  must  have  been  in  your  teens," 
laughs  Leo.  "  What  is  she  ?  a  widow  ?" 

Raymond  proceeds  to  tell  his  friend  the  story  that  so  many 
people  have  found  strange  and  interesting. 


108  MIGNON. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  The  sound  of  the  strong  summer  thickening 
In  heated  leaves  of  the  smooth  apple-trees : 
The  day's  breath  felt  about  the  ash  branches, 
And  noises  of  the  noon,  whose  weight  still  grew 
On  the  hot,  heavy-headed  flowers,  and  drew 
Their  red  mouths  open  till  the  rose-heart  ached." 

SWINBURNE. 

"  WHAT  are  we  to  do  with  those  boys  ?"  asks  Olga  of  her 
friend  the  next  morning  at  breakfast. 

"  What  a  question  for  the  most  accomplished  hostess  in  the 
world  !"  returns  Mrs.  Forsyth,  with  a  smile. 

"  But  at  the  present  moment,  ma  chere,  there  is  nothing 
available  but  the  beauties  of  nature, — to  which  young  men  of 
sporting  tendencies  are  not  usually  very  sensitive.  A  lake  or 
stream  only  suggests  fish  to  be  caught ;  a  wood,  good  covert ; 
a  view,  the  probability  of  its  being  a  desirable  hunting 
country  ;  even  the  charm  of  a  garden  is  the  thought  of  cut- 
ting down  the  trees." 

"  Let  them  smoke  and  play  billiards." 

"  They  have  evidently  done  that  until  they  are  tired  of  it. 
No.  I  tell  you  what  I  propose.  I  cannot  have  them  with 
me  all  the  afternoon  :  after  lunch,  I  shall  send  them  into  the 
Folly  and  set  the  organ  going,  and  about  five  we'll  ride,  and 
after  dinner  they  shall  row  us  on  the  lake." 

"  An  excellent  arrangement,"  Mrs.  Forsyth  agrees. 

Two  o'clock  comes,  and  with  it  the  expected  guests.  It  is 
a  decided  relief,  after  the  burning  glare  outside,  to  come  into 
the  deliciously  cool  dining-room,  looking  out  on  a  sea  of  turf 
with  a  grand  cedar  in  the  distance.  No  flowers  outside,  but 
plenty  in  the  room,  in  crystal  bowls  and  vases,  nestling  among 
delicate  ferns.  Everything  is  cold,  the  wines  are  deliciously 
iced,  the  dishes  are  of  the  choicest,  the  salad  is  "  a  dream," 
and  the  piles  of  crimson  strawberries,  and  the  cream  that  only 
a  model  dairy  can  produce,  deHght  two  senses  at  once.  Kay- 
mond  and  his  friend  quite  forgot  that  half  an  hour  ago  they 


•MJGNON.  109 

pronounced  the  day  unbearable,  and  that  no  limit  of  time 
under  a  week  could  get  them  cool. 

Leo  Vyner  is  surprised.  As  he  told  Olga  last  night,  he  has 
not  seen  much  of  ladies,  and  is  not  at  all  au  fait  of  their 
graces  and  refinements.  His  father's  house  is  conducted  on 
the  rough  and  ready  principles  of  a  man  who  has  no  woman- 
kind belonging  to  him,  and  to  whom  every  other  consideration 
is  secondary  to  that  of  sport.  Leo  has  been  little  in  women's 
society  :  it. bores  his  father,  and  the  two  are  almost  inseparable. 

"  Your  mother  was  a  most  excellent  woman,"  Mr.  Vyner 
senior  has  told  his  son  ;  "  she  was,  of  course,  a  very  great 
loss, — an  irreparable  loss,  I  may  say.  But  women  are  curious 
creatures  :  it  is  not  good  for  a  man  to  have  too  much  to  do 
with  them  ;  they  are  not  rational ;  they  cannot  understand 
that  there  are  considerations  in  a  man's  mind  that  must 
naturally  come  before  them  ;  they  are  always  wanting  to  be 
first,  and  making  scenes  when  they  find  they  cannot.  A 
woman  who  is  her  own  mistress  is  about  as  dangerous  as  a 
tiger  let  loose  in  a  crowd." 

Leo  has  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  opportunity  of  con- 
templating this  dangerous  animal,  a  woman  uncontrolled.  He 
is  quite  ignorant  on  the  subject  of  art ;  he  knows  nothing  of 
pictures,  statues,  china,  or  such  matters ;  he  is  not  even  a  good 
judge  of  the  appointments  of  an  elegant  house ;  but  he  is  far 
more  impressed  in  the  few  minutes  since  he  entered  The  Manor 
House  than  he  has  ever  been  upon  going  into  a  strange  house 
before.  The  refinement,  the  harmonious  beauty  of  every  object 
that  meets  his  eye  ;  the  perfectness  of  every  arrangement :  the 
comfort  that  goes  even  beyond,  the  elegance.  The  charm  of 
Olga's  manner  is  stealing  across  him  :  he  knows  little  of  style 
or  dress,  but  Mrs.  Stratheden's  gives  him  a  vague  idea  of  per- 
fection ;  she  seems  to  make  no  effort,  and  yet  talk  flows  on 
pleasantly,  smoothly.  Leo  feels  almost  abashed :  until  to-day 
he  has  never  been  embarrassed  by  the  consciousness  of  superi- 
ority in  a  woman.  Olga's  voice  and  smile  give  him  a  strange 
unaccustomed  pleasure :  he  wishes  the  exigencies  of  society  did 
not  forbid  his  sitting  and  staring  at  her  as  a  simple  spectator. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  you  to  yourselves,"  Mrs.  Stratheden 
says,  when  the  pleasantly-protracted  lunch  has  come  to  an  end. 
"  You  can  find  your  way  to  the  Folly,  Raymond.  The  organ 
is  wound  up :  you  have  only  to  set  it  going." 

10 


110  MIGNON. 

"  But  you  will  come  too  ?"  persuades  Raymond  :  "  it  won't  be 
half  so  nice  without  you;  and  we  won't  smoke  if  you  don't 
like  it." 

"  Smoking  does  not  frighten  me  away,  as  you  ought  to 
know,"  she  answers,  smiling ;  "  but  I  have  some  letters  to 
write.  I  will  look  in  upon  you  presently." 

"  Do  not  be  long,  then,"  he  says,  going. 

When  Leo  finds  himself  in  the  Folly,  he  stands  still  and 
draws  a  long  breath :  it  looks  to  him  like  fairy -land. 

"  She  is  a  wonderful  woman,"  he  says  to  himself,  for  about 
the  tenth  time  since  his  arrival.  Raymond  is  too  much  accus- 
tomed to  the  place  to  be  in  any  way  affected  by  the  beauty  of 
it,  and  proceeds  at  once  to  set  the  organ  going.  Leo  is  fond 
of  music,  although  he  does  not  in  the  least  understand  it. 
(Why  should  I  say  although  ?  is  it  necessary  for  the  purpose 
of  admiring  a  picture  that  one  should  know  how  to  mix  colors, 
or  is  the  pleasure  we  feel  at  a  beautiful  statue  incompatible 
with  ignorance  of  the  art  of  modelling  ?)  With  the  organ,  the 
illusion  is  complete.  The  cool  plashing  sound  of  falling  water, 
the  velvety  richness  of  the  surrounding  green,  the  tender  scent 
and  coloring  of  the  roses,  the  gleaming  statues  of  exquisite 
form,  and  the  melting  strains  of  the  loveliest  waltz  that  ever 
stirred  the  veins.  Leo  is  strangely  subdued.  He  has  never 
occupied  himself  with  the  search  of  stimulants  for  his  senses. 
Most  young  fellows  who  came  into  the  Folly  said,  with  enthu- 
siasm, "  What  an  awfully  jolly  place  !"  but  it  made  unsophis- 
ticated Leo  dumb  :  he  almost  felt  as  if  his  feet  profaned  such 
a  temple. 

Raymond,  having  set  the  organ  going,  flings  himself  upon  a 
low  couch  and  takes  out  his  cigar-case. 

"  Raymond,"  cries  Leo,  in  a  tone  of  horror,  "  you  are  surely 
not  going  to  smoke  here  /" 

Raymond  stares  at  him,  then  laughs. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  this  is  the  smoking-room  par  excellence  of 
the  house ;  though  Mrs.  Stratheden  will  let  you  smoke  any- 
where, except  in  the  drawing-room.  That's  what  makes  her 
such  a  favorite :  she's  so  awfully  sensible,  and  always  likes 
everybody  to  be  happy  and  do  what  they  like.  Come ;  light 
up." 

Somehow,  Leo  does  not  feel  inclined  to  obey  his  friend's 
behest,  but,  sitting  beside  the  fountain,  allows  his  senses  to 


MIONON.  Ill 

drink  their  fill  of  pleasure.  Without  being  aware  of  it,  he 
has  an  imagination  ;  but  it  has  steadily  been  kept  under  by  the 
constant  bodily  exercise  to  which  he  has  been  accustomed 
almost  from  his  cradle. 

"  Awfully  jolly  this,  isn't  it  ?"  says  Raymond,  pufling  indo- 
lently at  his  cigar. 

The  two  words  by  which  the  rising  youth  are  apt  to  desig- 
nate everything  that  gives  them  pleasure,  from  the  most  trivial 
to  the  most  exciting,  somehow  jar  upon  Leo,  though  he  is 
quite  as  much  a  slave  to  paucity  of  expression  as  other  young 
men  of  the  day.  Their  inadequacy  and  inappropriateness  strike 
him  unpleasantly.  Jolly  !  applied  to  this  paradise  of  refine- 
ment. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  think  much  of  it,"  proceeds  Ray- 
mond, not  taking  his  friend's  silence  for  consent.  "  Not  in 
your  line,  eh?  Now,  /think  it  the  most  delightful  place  in 
the  world." 

"  So  do  I,"  returns  Leo,  briefly. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.  You've  seemed  so  glum  and  silent 
ever  since  you  came,  I  thought  the  women  bored  you." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replies  Leo,  rather  indignant  with  his  friend, 
he  does  not  quite  know  why.  "  It's  too  hot  to  talk.  You 
smoke,  and  let  me  go  to  sleep." 

"  All  right,"  returns  Raymond.  "  I  feel  rather  drowsy 
myself,"  and  he  shuts  his  eyes :  "  I  can't  do  any  more  damage 
than  burn  a  hole  in  my  coat  if  I  do  go  to  sleep." 

Leo  never  felt  less  sleepy  in  his  life.  Lying  back  in  the 
luxurious  chaise  longuc,  with  the  music  of  the  water  in  his 
ears,  the  strains  of  the  waltz  still  pouring  on,  the  subtle  scent 
of  flowers  stealing  through  his  fresh  young  senses,  he  expe- 
riences a  new  pleasure  in  life.  The  less  ethereal  part  of  him 
reflects  on  the  choiceness  of  the  cuisine t  the  delicate  flavor  of 
the  wines  with  which  he  was  lately  served.  The  whole  thing 
seems  to  him  rather  like  a  chapter  out  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 
Many  of  his  friends  would  have  only  pronounced  everything 
"  uncommonly  well  done ;"  Olga  herself  is  far  from  feeling 
that  she  has  attained  perfection  in  her  menage ;  but  to  Leo,  to 
whom  Sybaritism  is  a  sealed  book,  everything  is  wonderful 
and  delightful. 

"  She  is  a  sort  of  Circe,"  he  says  to  himself,  apostrophizing 
Olga, — "  a  good  Circe.  She  could  not  do  anything  wicked  or 


112  MIGXON. 

cruel,  "with  those  eyes.  She  is  not  beautiful,  but  there  is  some 
charm  about  her  more  taking  than  beauty.  I  can  fancy  men 
being  tremendously  in  love  with  her,  as  Raymond  said ;  though 
I  don't  know  that  I  should  be  one  of  her  victims.  By  Jove ! 
he's  off."  This  as  he  hears  a  heavy,  regular  breathing  from 
the  other  side  of  the  fountain.  "  I  wonder  if  his  cigar's  out?" 
And  Leo  raises  himself  on  one  elbow  to  look.  "It's  all  right." 
Then,  stopping  to  look  a  moment  longer,  "  By  Jove  !  what  a 
handsome  fellow  he  is  !" 

And  certainly  Mr.  Raymond  L'Estrange  might  have  borne 
not  unfavorable  comparison  with  Apollo,  Antinoiis,  or  any  of 
the  young  gods  renowned  for  beauty.  The  only  defect  in  his 
face,  if  one  may  be  permitted  so  contradictory  a  mode  of  ex- 
pression, is  its  perfection  which  detracts  from  its  manliness. 
The  small  head,  pencilled  brows,  broad  low  forehead,  Grec-k 
nose,  the  delicate  oval  of  the  face,  and,  chief  beauty  of  all, 
the  exquisite  curves  of  his  mouth,  are  indisputably  effeminate ; 
and  were  it  not  that  nature  has  endowed  him  with  five  feet 
ten  inches  of  height,  and  a  taste  for  masculine  pursuits,  that 
fickle  goddess  might  have  been  accused  of  spoiling  a  woman 
without  making  a  handsome  man.  As  he  is,  his  claim  to 
beauty  is  acknowledged  by  both  sexes.  Fortunately,  he  is  too 
handsome  to  be  vain,  though  he  well  knows  how  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  royal  prerogative.  Olga,  who  is  a  slave  to 
good  looks,  spoils  him ;  so  does  almost  every  other  woman : 
even  his  men  friends  are  prone  to  look  over  a  certain  amount 
of  waywardness  and  selfishness  on  account  of  his  handsome 
face.  He  is  gifted  with  a  charming  manner,  too,  when  he  is 
allowed  his  own  sweet  will  uncontradicted,  and,  being  his  own 
master,  well  born  and  well  endowed,  life  is  a  very  pleasant  and 
uncomplicated  problem  for  him  at  the  present  moment. 

Leo  Vyner  has  not  a  tithe  of  his  advantages.  He  has  a 
fair,  frank,  good-looking  (not  handsome)  face,  a  high  spir.it, 
immense  pluck  (an  ugly  name  for  courage),  a  certain  amount 
of  passion  and  determination,  more  brains  than  are-  necessary 
to  prevent  his  being  a  fool,  and  an  excellent  digestion,  which 
is,  no  doubt,  in  part  the  cause  of  his  excellent  temper.  He  is 
taller  than  Raymond  by  two  inches,  but  does  not  look  so,  on 
account  of  his  perfect  development. 

Raymond  continues  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just.  Leo  is 
deep  in  day-dreams,  a  perfectly  new  occupation  for  him, — when 


MIGNON.  113 

the  door  uncloses  and  admits  Olga.  He  jumps  to  his  feet  in 
a  moment.  Raymond  sleeps  on. 

"Hush!"  whispers  Olga,  putting  her  finger  to  her  lips. 
"Do  not  wake  him."  She  stands  for  a  moment  looking  down 
upon  the  sleeper.  "  Is  it  not  a  beautiful  face  ?"  she  murmurs : 
"like  a  Greek  god's." 

Leo  assents ;  but  his  admiration  for  his  friend  is  evidently 
not  so  keen  as  Olga's,  since  one  glance  contents  him. 

"We  will  leave  him,"  she  says,  presently.  "Would  you 
like  to  go  over  the  stables  ?" 

Has  she  fresh  surprises  in  store  for  him  ?  Leo  wonders.  He 
does  not  believe  that  a  woman  can  know  anything  about  horses, 
although  he  has  seen  one  or  two  ride  very  straight  to  hounds, 
— a  sight  eminently  disagreeable  to  him.  If  there  is  one  thing 
in  the  world  he  cares  more  for  than  another,  if  there  is  one 
subject  upon  which  his  modesty  permits  him  to  think  he  knows 
more  than  another,  it  is  horse-flesh. 

As  they  stroll  out  together  through  one  of  the  great  win- 
dows of  the  Folly,  he  wonders  to  himself  whether  he  is  going 
to  be  quite  desillusionne  or  more  astonished  than  ever.  True, 
he  remembers  noticing  how  well  her  horse  and  groom  were 
turned  out  last  night ;  but  if  she  had  a  good  head  man  that 
would  be  only  what  one  might  expect. 

"The  men  are  at  tea,"  she  tells  him.  "I  always  prefer 
coming  when  they  are  out  of  the  way."  And  she  conducts 
him  from  stall  to  stall,  from  loose  box  to  loose  box.  For  every 
animal  she  has  a  word  and  a  caress,  and  one  and  all  receive  her 
with  the  friendly  greeting  noise  that  is  the  language  of  the 
Houyhnhnms.  Leo  looks  on  with  unqualified  approval :  if  he 
were  master  here  and  his  watchful  eye  had  supervised  every- 
thing for  a  twelvemonth  and  his  pocket  been  able  to  carry  out 
his  ideas,  things  could  not  be  better  done.  That  is  a  tremen- 
dous admission  for  a  man  who  fancies  his  own  judgment  on 
equine  matters.  The  construction  of  the  stables,  the  horses' 
clothing,  the  temperature,  even  to  the  pattern  of  the  plaited 
straw  edging, — everything  is  just  as  he  would  have  it.  He 
examines  the  horses  with  a  critical  eye, — the  ponies  Olga 
drives,  if  one  can  call  fifteen  hands  ponies,  her  carriage-  and 
saddle-horses,  and  the  two  hunters  she  keeps  for  her  friends. 
Happy  friends !  thinks  Leo,  who  has  nothing  of  his  own  to 
touch  them.  Then  they  go  to  the  harness-room,  and  he  looks 

10* 


114  MIONON. 

over  harness,  bits,  and  bridles.  No  sign  of  slackness  or  sloven- 
liness here. 

"  You  must  have  a  first-rate  man,"  he  says  to  Mrs.  Strathe- 
dcn,  not  crediting  her,  however  disposed  he  may  be  to  admire 
her,  with  being  the  ruling  genius  of  this  department. 

"Yes,"  answers  Olga:  "  he  is  very  painstaking.  I  had  a 
good  deal  to  teach  him,  but  he  has  quite  got  into  my  ways 
now." 

She  makes  the  remark  without  the  slightest  vanity  or 
consciousness,  without  any  desire  or  idea  of  elevating  herself 
in  Leo's  eyes.  Why,  indeed,  should  she  be  moved  to  any 
such  consideration  ?  She  simply  looks  upon  him  as  something 
about  two  removes  from  an  Eton  boy,  whom  being  her  guest, 
she  is  endeavoring  to  amuse. 

Leo  stares  at  her.  She  is  sufficiently  a  thought-reader,  and 
his  face  is  expressive  enough  for  her  to  arrive  at  a  close  ap- 
proximation to  his  thought.  She  laughs  merrily. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  women  have  no  business  to  know 
anything  about  such  matters." 

"  I  think  you  are  the  most  wonderful  woman  I  ever  met 
with,"  he  says,  and  then  blushes  crimson  at  his  own  temerity. 

Olga  laughs  again. 

"  When  one  has  lived  a  great  many  years  in  the  world," 
she  remarks,  "  one  ought  to  have  gained  a  certain  amount  of 
experience.  It  is  the  only  compensation  one  has  for  growing 
old." 

"  Why  do  you  talk  like  that  ?"  cries  Leo,  almost  indignantly. 
"  You  are  as  young  as — as  any  woman  need  wish  to  be." 

His  very  downright  and  evidently  sincere  compliment  is 
not  unacceptable  to  Olga. 

"  Come,"  she  says,  not  affecting  to  notice  it ;  "  let  us  go 
and  see  if  Raymond  is  awake."  They  find  that  young  gentle- 
man in  the  act  of  rousing  himself. 

"  Come  and  sing  us  something,  won't  you  ?"  he  says  to 
Mrs.  Stratheden.  She  is  very  good-natured,  particularly  as 
a  hostess,  and  complies. 

"  For  five  minutes,"  she  says :  "  it  is  too  hot  to  sing  to-day." 
And,  without  further  prelude,  she  sits  down  and  sings  two 
simple  ballads  with  a  voice  that  seems  to  Leo  the  sweetest  he 
has  ever  heard. 

"  Raymond,"  she  says,  rising,  and  shutting  the  piano  as  an 


MIGNON.  115 

intimation  that  the  concert  is  over,  "  I  want  to  show  you  my 
new  pistol :  there  is  just  time  to  try  it  before  I  put  my  habit 
on." 

"  All  right,"  he  answers.  "  I'll  get  the  target.  The  usual 
place,  I  suppose?" 

They  go  out  on  the  lawn,  the  shady  side  of  the  house,  and 
Raymond  puts  a  bullet  in  the  pistol. 

"  Be  careful !"  says  Olga  :  "  the  pull-off  is  very  light." 

He  fires  three  times  to  the  left  of  the  bull's-eye. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  quite  true,"  he  observes. 

Olga  takes  it  from  him  and  fires  straight  into  the  bull's-eye. 

She  hands  it  to  Leo.  His  shot  hits  the  target  a  little  to  the 
right. 

"  Let  me  have  another  try,"  says  Raymond,  reloading.  At 
the  instant  that  his  finger  is  on  the  trigger,  a  dog  he  brought 
with  him,  and  which  has  just  escaped  from  the  stables,  rushes 
up  to  him,  frantic  with  delighted  excitement.  He  turns 
sharply  to  chide  it,  his  hand  turns  with  his  body,  the  pistol 
goes  off,  and — does  not  hit  the  target. 

"  Confound  you,  you  brute !"  he  cries,  angrily,  to  the  ani- 
mal, who  is  more  excited  than  ever  by  the  sound  of  the  report. 
He  is  stooping  to  pick  up  a  fresh  bullet,  when  Olga  utters  a 
little  cry  and  runs  towards  his  friend.  At  the  same  instant, 
Leo  feels  a  curious  sensation  in  his  left  hand  :  blood  is  trick- 
ling through  his  fingers.  He  tries  to  raise  the  arm,  but  can- 
not for  the  pain. 

"  I  expect  I  am  shot  in  the  shoulder,"  he  says,  quietly, 
putting  up  his  other  hand  to  it.  As  he  speaks,  Raymond 
looks  up,  sees  the  blood  dripping  in  a  pool  upon  the  grass,  and 
turns  ghastly  white ;  his  legs  seem  giving  way  under  him. 

"  Good  God  !  what  is  it  ?"  he  cries. 

"  Come  into  the  house,"  says  Olga,  not  losing  her  presence 
of  mind.  "  Do  not  move  your  arm  more  than  you  can  help. 
Raymond,  send  William  off  on  the  fastest  horse  at  once  for 
Mr.  Rushbrook  ;  no,  stop  !  tell  Jenkins  to  drive  the  bay  in 
the  little  dog-cart  and  to  bring  the  doctor  back  with  him. 
Don't  lose  a  moment !" 

Leo  tries  to  make  light  of  it,  but  a  sick  feeling  is  creeping 
over  him,  and  the  blood  is  running  in  streams  down  his  arm 
now.  Mrs.  Stratheden  hurries  him  into  the  first  room  they 
come  to :  she  remembers  with  a  sort  of  misgiving  that  it  was 


116  MIONON. 

here  poor  George  was  brought  after  he  broke  his  back.  She 
makes  him  lie  on  a  sofa  near  the  open  window,  and  rings  the 
bell  violently.  The  impassive  Truscott  appears  in  swift,  answer 
to  this  unusual  summons.  In  a  few  words  she  explains  what 
has  happened,  and  bids  him  call  the  housekeeper  and  bring 
bandages  and  cold  water. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  get  his  coat  off.  It  is  done ; 
but  by  his  deathly  pallor  she  sees  it  has  been  almost  too  much 
for  him.  Not  for  one  instant  does  she  lose  her  head,  although 
she  is  in  an  agony  of  terror  at  the  sight  of  the  blood  continuing 
to  stream  from  him.  She  remembers  hearing  somewhere  that 
a  man  bleeding  from  a  wound  should  be  laid  flat  on  the  ground  ; 
she  makes  him  lie  on  the  floor,  and  sends  for  brandy ;  with 
her  own  hands  she  cuts  his  shirt  from  his  shoulder  and  arm : 
the  grande  dame,  the  prude,  are  forgotten  in  the  emergency, 
nothing  but  the  woman  is  left.  The  bright-red  blood  spurts 
out  in  little  jets  with  every  pulsation,  and  Olga  remembers, 
with  sickening  apprehension,  to  have  heard  that  bright-colored 
blood  comes  from  an  artery.  Raymond  has  come  in,  and  is 
standing  looking  at  her,  ghastly  white  and  shivering,  helpless 
as  a  child.  Her  delicate  laces  are  stained  and  dabbled,  her 
white  fingers  are  red,  and  yet  she  does  not  falter  nor  shrink. 
Truscott  and  the  housekeeper  are  sickly  pale,  and  tremble  like 
leaves  as  they  help  her.  Leo  sees  everything  as  if  in  a  dream : 
he  has  no  inclination  to  speak,  but  somehow  he  feels  safe  in 
Olga's  hands.  The  wound  is  in  the  fleshy  part  of  the  arm : 
she  straps  and  bandages  it  as  tight  as  she  and  Truscott  can, 
but  the  blood  still  oozes  through  the  bandages.  He  has 
already  lost  a  frightful  quantity:  everything  about  is  saturated 
with  it.  The  sight  is  horrible.  Mrs.  Forsyth,  hearing  of  an 
accident,  conies  running,  but  at  the  sight  staggers  and  nearly 
falls. 

"  Take  her  away,  Raymond,"  cries  Olga,  imperiously,  glad 
to  be  rid  of  them  both ;  and  he  obeys. 

Olga  is  distracted.  She  thinks  the  poor  boy  will  die  under 
her  hands.  Oh,  how  the  moments  creep !  She  looks  de- 
spairingly at  the  clock ;  it  is  only  twenty  minutes  since  all  this 
happened.  With  Bonnibel's  best  speed,  Jenkins  can  but  just 
be  getting  into  Althani ;  and  the  doctor  may  be  out.  Oh,  why 
had  she  not  thought  to  tell  him  to  bring  any  doctor,  the  first, 
the  nearest?  What  can  she  do?  what  can  she  do?  she  thinks, 


MIGNON.  117 

in  an  agony,  seeing  that  the  bandages  seem  to  have  no  effect ; 
and  all  at  once  she  remembers  that  her  father  used  to  tell  how 
a  woman  had  once  saved  the  life  of  a  friend  by  pressing  her 
fingers  into  the  wound  until  the  surgeon  came.  It  was  horri- 
ble ;  but  what  did  that  matter  in  comparison  with  this  boy's 
life?  She  undid  the  bandages:  the  blood  welled  out  again. 
She  shut  her  teeth  hard,  and  pressed  her  fingers  tightly  upon 
the  bleeding  arm.  The  effect  was  magical :  one  of  her  finger- 
tips was  on  the  artery,  and  checked  the  flow  at  once.  And 
there  she  sat  beside  him  on  the  floor  for  thirty -five  minutes, 
during  which  the  position  became  positive  agony  to  her ;  but 
she  only  set  her  teeth  harder  and  refused  to  move.  When 
Mr.  Rushbrook  arrived  and  relieved  her,  she  fainted.  On 
coming  to  herself,  she  was  on  her  own  bed,  with  Mrs.  Forsyth 
and"  the  doctor  bending  over  her.  She  had  not  the  faintest 
recollection  of  what  had  happened, — only  had  a  shuddering 
instinct  of  something  horrible. 

"  Come,  come,  that's  right !"  are  the  first  words  she  hears 
in  the  voice  of  Mr.  Rushbrook,  who  has  known  her  from  a 
child.  "  We  shall  do  now." 

"  What  is  the  matter,"  she  asks,  faintly,  a  strange  confusion 
making  havoc  with  her  senses.  "  Have  I  been  shot?" 

"  No,  no,  my  darling,"  answers  Mrs.  Forsyth,  hastily  :  "  it 
was  Mr.  Vyner,  Raymond's  friend.  He  is  doing  quite  well 
now,  thanks  to  you." 

"  Thanks  indeed,"  echoes  the  doctor.  "  But  for  you  it's 
very  doubtful  whether  he  wouldn't  have  been  in  a  better  world 
by  now." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  him  ?"  asks  Olga,  faintly. 

"  I  have  stopped  the  bleeding  and  left  Truscott  to  look  after 
him.  He  must  not  be  moved.  I  have  ordered  a  bed  to  be 
put  up  in  the  room.  You'll  have  him  for  a  visitor  longer  than 
you  bargained  for  when  you  asked  him  to  spend  the  day." 


118  M1GSON. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  And  the  breath 

Of  her  sweet  tendance  hovering  over  him 
Filled  all  the  genial  courses  of  his  blood 
With  deeper  and  with  ever  deeper  love, 
As  the  southwest  that  blowing  Bala  lake 
Fills  all  the  sacred  Dee.    So  passed  the  days." 

Enid. 

RAYMOND  is  distracted,  and  wanders  about  like  a  restless 
spirit :  the  poor  fellow  feels  as  if  his  unlucky  accident  'had 
marked  him  with  the  brand  of  Cain.  Mrs.  Stratheden  is  in 
her  room,  Mrs.  Forsyth  with  her,  and  the  doctor  will  not  hear 
of  his  going  near  Leo,  who  is  to  be  kept  perfectly  quiet.  So 
he  elects  dismally  to  go  home  and  carry  the  dreadful  news  to 
his  mother.  . 

"  Have  my  horse  put  to,"  he  says,  dolefully,  to  Jenkins ; 
"  and  I  shall  be  glad  if  you'll  keep  that  brute  of  a  dog  here 
till  to-morrow.  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of  him.  I  feel  as  if  I 
should  shoot  him  if  I  took  him  home." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  responds  the  automatical  Jenkins. 

So  poor  Nep,  howling  and  tugging  at  his  chain,  hears  his 
master  go  off  without  him,  all  unsconcious,  poor  beast,  of  the 
dire  misfortune  he  has  brought  on  that  beloved  head.  After 
a  couple  of  hours'  persistent  efforts,  he  succeeds  in  slipping 
his  collar,  and  arrives  at  home  in  time  to  appear,  like  Banquo's 
ghost,  at  his  master's  dinner.  He  is  forthwith  consigned  to 
the  stables,  still  ignorant  of  his  crime. 

Meanwhile,  Leo  having  been  put  to  bed,  remains  in  a  state 
of  drowsiness  and  helplessness  perfectly  new  to  the  young 
athlete :  he  feels  no  inclination  to  think  or  speak,  and  does  not 
even  feel  surprised  or  concerned  at  the  very  unusual  position 
in  which  he  finds  himself.  In  the  evening  Olga  comes  to  see 
him.  He  experiences  a  sensation  of  pleasure,  and  has  a  vaLrne 
remembrance  that  she  has  done  some  great  thing  for  him.  He 
wants  to  thank  her,  and  opens  his  lips,  but  the  words  do  not 
come  readily. 


MIGNON.  119 

"  Hush  !"  she  says,  putting  her  finger  to  her  lips  :  "  you 
are  not  to  speak  a  word."  And  then,  without  the  slightest 
consciousness,  just  as  if  she  were  his  nurse,  she  lays  her  cool 
hand  on  his  brow.  Leo's  eyes  glisten  at  her  soft  touch  :  it  is 
a  new  sensation  to  him,  a  most  pleasant  one. 

"  Don't  take  it  away,"  he  murmurs ;  and  Olga  sits  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed  and  continues  to  pass  her  hand  over  his 
forehead  and  his  fair  cropped  curls  until  it  has  the  mesmeric 
effect  of  sending  him  to  sleep. 

Mrs.  Forsyth,  who  has  come  in  with  her,  sits  in  an  arm- 
chair and  contemplates  the  picture.  A  little  smile,  half 
amused,  half  malicious,  plays  on  her  lip. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  that  boy,"  she  says,  when  she  and 
Olga  are  sitting,  a  little  later,  in  the  latter's  boudoir. 

"  So  am  I,"  answers  Olga. 

"  I  do  not  mean  so  much  for  the  accident  as  for  the  probable 
results." 

"  You  think  it  will  leave  him  weak  for  a  long  time?" 

"  Weak  in  his  head,"  replies  her  friend.  "  Seriously,  Olga, 
I  think  it  would  be  kinder  of  you  to  leave  him  to  me  and 
Truscott." 

"  Ma  chere,"  says  Olga,  "  I  think  you  are  pleased  to  speak 
in  parables." 

"  It  is  a  very  dangerous  position  for  a  young  man  to  be 
nursed  by  a  charming  woman.  He  will  fall  in  love  with  you." 

"  Absurd  !"  exclaims  Olga,  petulantly.  "  I  am  old  enough 
to  be  his  mother." 

«  Hardly." 

"At  all  events,  I  shall  nurse  him  as  if  I  were,"  answers 
Olga,  with  determination.  "  Would  you  have  me  leave  the 
boy  to  servants  ?  I  did  not  think  you  were  so  heartless,  ma 
chere." 

u  I  will  take  care  of  him :  and  he  would  have  no  difficulty 
in  looking  upon  me  as  a  mother." 

"  Certainly  not"  (with  decision).  "  The  accident  happened 
to  him  in  my  house,  and  I  consider  it  my  duty  to  look  after 
him." 

"  Well,  my  love,  you  will  prove  an  excellent  nurse,  I  am 
quite  sure,"  returns  Mrs.  Forsyth.  "  It  is  wonderful  that  such 
a  fragile  creature  should  have  so  much  nerve.  Very  few 
women  could  have  done  what  you  did  to-day.  I  am  afraid  / 


120  MIGKON. 

behaved  like  a  sad  coward ;  but  the  sight  was  too  dreadful. 
I  never  could  bear  to  see  blood." 

"  Ma  chere,"  returns  Olga,  "  if  there  had  been  no  one  else 
to  do  it,  you  or  any  other  woman  would  have  done  the  same: 
you  could  not  have  let  the  poor  boy  die  before  your  eyes.  It 
was  a  most  unfortunate  thing  altogether.  I  think  poor  Ray- 
mond is  almost  the  most  to  be  pitied.  I  wish  he  had  not 
gone  without  my  seeing  him.  I  never  will  have  a  pistol  or  a 
rifle  out  again  for  amusement.  Poor  papa  always  said  it  was 
the  most  dangerous  thing  in  the  world." 

Mrs.  Stratheden  gets  very  little  sleep  that  night.  Her 
nerves  have  been  terribly  shaken.  All  night,  between  sleep- 
ing and  waking,  she  enacts  the  horrible  scene  again  and  again, 
and  is  thankful  when  morning  comes  and  she  can  go  out  into 
the  air.  Having  heard  that  he  has  passed  a  quiet  night  and 
is  still  sleeping,  she  orders  her  horse,  and  at  eight  o'clock  is 
in  the  saddle.  This  very  unusual  event  does  not  find  Jenkins 
unprepared  :  he  and  his  horses  are  as  well  turned  out  as  if  the 
time  were  five  o'clock  P.M.  and  the  scene  May  Fair. 

It  is  such  a  morning.  "  How  can  people  remain  in  bed  the 
best  part  of  the  day  !"  thinks  Olga,  as  she  canters  swiftly 
across  the  common,  with  the  delicious  breeze  kissing  her  cheek 
and  rippling  her  dark  hair.  There  was  once  a  great  poet  who 
wrote  the  following  lines,  or  something  like  them,  apropos  of 
those  who  slumber  in  the  morning : 

"Who  would  in  such  a  gloomy  state  remain 
Longer  than  Nature  craves,  when  every  Muse 
And  every  blooming  pleasure  waits  without 
To  bless  the  wildly  devious  morning  walk  ?" 

The  author  of  those  celebrated  lines  was  a  proverbially  late 
riser.  Madam  Olga's  usual  breakfast-hour  is  ten  ;  and  that  is 
"  positively  her  first  appearance."  On  this  occasion  she  is  far 
more  conscious  of  the  virtue  of  being  up  so  early  than  she 
had  ever  been  of  the  sin  of  losing  the  best  hours  of  the  day. 
She  is  on  her  way  to  L'Estrange  Hall,  to  set  Raymond's  mind 
at  rest  about  his  friend :  his  place  is  something  under  four 
miles  from  The  Manor  House.  She  has  not  ridden  quite  half- 
way, when  she  meets  him  bowling  swiftly  along  in  his  stan- 
hope. He  turns  pale  at  the  unexpected  apparition  of  Mrs. 
Stratheden  out  at  this  unearthly  time  of  the  morning,  as  he 
considers  it. 


MIGNON.  121 

"  He  has  had  a  good  night :  he  is  going  on  famously," 
Olga  hastens  to  say,  as  he  stops  beside  her. 

"  Thank  God !"  cries  Raymond,  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
that  comes  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  heart.  "  It's  no  use 
going  on  to  inquire,  then,"  he  proceeds,  rather  plaintively : 
"  though  heaven  knows  what  I'm  to  do  with  myself  all  the 
livelong  day,  now  I've  got  up  so  early." 

"  Have  a  ride  with  me,"  says  Olga,  "  and  come  back  to 
breakfast.  You  can  ride  Jenkins's  horse,  and  he  can  go  home 
with  your  man." 

"  I  should  like  it  awfully,"  cries  the  young  fellow,  giving 
the  reins  to  his  groom  and  jumping  down  with  great  alacrity. 
"  I'm  not  exactly  in  riding  trim ;  but  that  doesn't  matter  this 
time  in  the  morning." 

Jenkins  dismounts,  lengthens  the  stirrups,  and  Raymond  is 
on  the  chestnut's  back  in  a  second. 

"  Olga,  what  a  darling  you  are  !"  he  cries,  putting  his  hand 
on  hers  when  the  grooms  are  out  of  sight. 

(I  must  explain  that,  in  consideration  of  his  youth  and  his 
having  once  fancied  himself  broken-hearted  on  her  account, 
Raymond  is  now  and  then  permitted,  generally  under  protest, 
to  give  way  to  his  affectionate  feelings.) 

"  You  behaved  like  a  heroine,  and  I  stood  gaping  like  a 
fool  and  didn't  know  what  in  the  world  to  do.  I  believe  he 
would  have  died  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  returns  Olga ;  "  but  I  have  often 
thought  how  necessary  it  is  to  know  what  to  do  in  case  of 
sudden  emergencies :  I  mean,  to  get  up  the  treatment  of 
casualties." 

"  How  docs  he  look  ?  Have  you  seen  him  ?  Do  you  think 
the  doctor  will  let  me  have  a  peep  at  him  to-day  ?"  Raymond 
asks.  "  And  to  think  of  the  awful  trouble  I've  put  you  to  ! 
Now,  if  it  had  happened  at  home,  it  wouldn't  have  been  half 
so  bad :  only  I  suppose  it  would  have  killed  my  poor  mother. 
She's  in  a  dreadful  way,  as  it  is." 

"  I  am  very  thankful  it  happened  where  it  did,  as  it  was  to 
happen,"  answers  Olga. 

"  When  will  he  be  able  to  be  removed  ?"  asks  Raymond. 

"  Oh,  that's  not  to  be  thought  of  for  ages ;  and  it  will  be  a 
little  excitement  for  Mrs.  Forsyth  and  myself,  having  a  young 
man  to  nurse." 

T  11 


122  MIGNON. 

"  Olga"  (rather  jealously),  "  don't  make  too  much  fuss  over 
him.  He'll  be  falling  in  love  with  you." 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous  !"  answers  Mrs.  Stratheden.  "  I  am 
an  old  woman,  as  I  have  told  you  before.  And  I  will  not 
allow  you  to  call  me  Olga  :  it  is  not  respectful." 

"  I  will  when  no  one  is  by,"  he  answers,  with  a  petulant 
Hash  of  his  hazel  eyes.  "  Olga !  Olga  !  You  look  about 
nineteen  this  morning ;  and  I  should  like  to  kiss  you." 

Mrs.  Stratheden  cannot  help  laughing. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  are  getting  far  too  precocious.  If  you 
behave  like  this,  ancient  as  I  am,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  have 
a  chaperon  by  when  you  come  to  see  me,  and  ma  chere's  office 
will  no  longer  be  a  sinecure." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  was  ten  years  older,"  cries  Kaymond. 
"  Would  you  marry  me  if  I  were  ?" 

She  turns  and  looks  admiringly  at  his  handsome  face. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  she  answers,  after  a  pause.  "  I  never  met 
any  one  more  calculated  to  give  a  wife  chronic  heartache  than 
you."  To  soften  her  words,  she  gives  the  hand  so  close  to 
hers  a  little  squeeze,  and  sets  her  horse  going  at  a  hand-gallop 
over  the  short  turf  in  the  direction  of  home. 

All  day  Leo  remains  tolerably  quiet  and  easy,  but  towards 
night  his  mind  begins  to  wander.  lie  fancies  himself  in  the 
Folly,  with  the  water  plashing  into  the  marble  basin  and  the 
origin  playing  softly  and  the  white  marble  statues  gleaming 
through  the  leaves.  Presently  he  looks  up  and  sees  Olga 
standing  in  the  doorway,  smiling  and  putting  her  finger  to 
her  lips.  Then,  as  he  looks,  she  turns  ghastly  pale,  her  white 
dress  is  stained  crimson,  and  she  is  bending  over  something 
that  lies  at  her  feet.  He  tries  hard  to  raise  himself  to  see 
what  or  who  it  is,  but  unseen  hands  drag  him  back.  Over 
and  over  again  this  scene  repeats  itself.  Then  he  sees  her 
standing  in  the  same  place,  only  three  times  more  beautiful, 
with  a  golden  crown  on  her  head.  Raymond  is  lying  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fountain,  asleep.  A  malicious  smile  comes 
into  her  eyes :  she  raises  her  wand,  and  Raymond's  beautiful 
face  begins  to  change  and  change  to  the  semblance  of  a  swine's, 
and  downwards  to  his  limbs  creeps  the  horrid  transformation, 
till  he  grovels  at  her  feet.  Then  she  turns  her  eyes  to  him, 
and  he  shrieks  out.  Olga  comes  into  the  room  at  midnight  to 
look  at  him,  and  hears  him  cry,  "  Circe  !  Circe !"  and  fancies 


MIGNON.  123 

it  is  a  race-horse,  or  a  favorite  dog.  Little  does  she  dream 
that  it  is  herself,  in  the  form  of  the  dangerous  enchantress  of 
jEaea,  whose  pity  he  is  invoking. 

For  a  week  Leo  lies  in  bed.  The  bullet  has  been  extracted : 
he  is  doing  remarkably  well,  the  doctor  says,  but  perfect  quiet 
is  necessary.  His  arm  is  painful,  but  he  is  very  brave  and 
patient,  and  will  scarcely  admit  that  he  suffers.  Olga  devotes 
herself  to  him,  watches  over  him  like  a  child,  and  one  day, 
noticing  that  his  dinner  is  not  nicely  cut  up,  she  undertakes 
the  task  of  feeding  him  herself.  She  has  such  exquisitely 
gentle  delicate  ways.  Leo  watches  her  as  if  she  were  a  being 
from  another  sphere,  and,  watching  her,  no  wonder  that  he  loses 
head  and  heart  too. 

Ten  days  go  by.  With  this  tender  nursing  and  his  iron 
constitution,  Leo  is  convalescent :  he  is  permitted  to  lie  on  the 
sofa  by  the  window :  in  a  day  or  two  he  is  to  go  into  the 
Folly.  Strange  to  relate,  this  young  Hercules,  who  has  never 
had  a  day's  illness,  who  one  might  imagine  would  chafe  furi- 
ously at  his  enforced  confinement,  looks  forward  with  positive 
pain  to  getting  well,  and  will  not  be  induced  to  take  a  hopeful 
view  of  his  case. 

"  I  never  knew  such  a  fellow,"  exclaims  Mr.  Rushbrook : 
"  he  gets  quite  irritable  when  I  try  to  cheer  him  up.  But 
there  !  that's  the  way  with  the  strong  ones  :  they  always  insist 
on  taking  the  worst  possible  view  of  the  case  when  they  ail 
anything." 

Leo  has  become  considerably  attached  to  Truscott,  who, 
besides  being  an  admirable  servant,  is  very  kind-hearted  and 
as  gentle  as  a  woman.  Truscott  is  devoted  to  his  mistress, 
and  Leo  has  a  mania  for  hearing  over  and  over  again  Mrs. 
Stratheden's  heroic  behavior  after  his  accident,  which  Truscott 
seems  equally  fond  of  expatiating  upon. 

"  Poor  young  fellow  !"  he  says  to  himself:  "  he's  going  the 
way  of  most  of  'em.  But  there  !  I  don't  wonder  at  it :  only  it 
does  seem  a  pity  she  can't  give  over  those  ways  of  hers  that 
does  so  much  mischief." 

Raymond  comes  over  regularly  every  day  to  see  his  friend,  an 
attention  which  the  latter  is  sometimes  ungracious  enough  not  to 
appreciate,  especially  when  he  sees  Olga's  graceful  figure  sail- 
ing across  the  lawn  with  Raymond  in  close  attendance,  or  gets 
glimpses  of  them  from  his  window  rowing  to  and  fro  on  the 


124  MIGSON. 

lake.  Besides,  when  Raymond  is  not  there,  Mrs.  Stratheden 
brings  some  little  delicate  shred  of  lace-work  and  sits  with  him, 
or  reads  to  him,  or,  best  of  all,  mesmerizes  him.  Olga  believes 
to  a  certain  extent  in  mesmerism,  and  rather  fancies  her  own 
gift  of  electricity :  therefore,  when  Leo,  with  a  duplicity  very 
much  opposed  to  his  open  nature,  pretends  to  the  most  marvel- 
lous effects  of  her  mesmerism,  and  actually  feigns  to  go  to  sleep 
under  it,  she  readily  consents  to  use  her  soothing  influence  for 
his  benefit.  It  is  mesmerism,  no  doubt,  and  of  a  very  danger- 
ous character,  the  delight  that  he  feels  at  the  touch  of  her  deli- 
cate fingers  on  his  brow  and  hair  (for  he  refuses  to  believe  in  the 
efficacy  of  passes  of  the  hand  made  at  a  distance).  Olga,  who 
is  sympathetic  to  a  fault,  and  who  would  take  the  utmost 
trouble  to  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  horse,  dog,  cat,  or  any 
other  animal  in  pain,  benevolently  puts  herself  to  no  small 
trouble  for  Leo's  pleasure  and  comfort,  and  is  firmly  convinced 
that  she  is  doing  him  good.  From  having  done  so  much  in 
his  behalf,  she  feels  an  interest  in  him  that  a  month  of  close 
acquaintance  in  an  ordinary  way  would  have  failed  to  produce. 
Now  he  is  getting  well  she  talks  to  him :  the  freshness,  the 
healthiness  of  his  ideas  please  and  almost  surprise  her  :  he  has 
not  acquired  the  blase,  superficial,  sceptical  tone  affected  by 
the  jeunesse  of  this  age. 

As  for  Leo,  he  is  as  madly  in  love  as  a  man  only  can  be  who 
loves  for  the  first  time  in  that  golden  space  between  youth  and 
manhood,  who  has  not  wasted  his  best  years  on  unworthy 
passions,  nor  grown,  from  contact  with  impurity,  to  doubt 
purity,  but  who  loves  with  all  passion  and  reverence  combined, 
and  who  believes  in  the  woman  he  loves  as  he  believes  in  God. 
And  if  the  woman,  as  sometimes  happens,  is  older  than  him- 
self, if,  as  does  not  often  happen,  she  is  gifted  with  an  exqui- 
site tact  and  delicacy,  a  perfect  savoir  ftiire,  an  entourage  of 
wealth,  luxury,  and  perfect  taste, — well,  all  that  can  be  said  is 
that  to  fall  in  love  under  such  circumstances  is  a  woful  misfor- 
tune for  a  young  fellow,  if  there  seems  as  little  chance  as  there 
docs  in  Leo's  case  of  fruition  crowning  his  hopes,  and  that  it 
is  likely  to  go  very  hard  with  him. 

Leo  lets  the  delicious  poison  steal  through  his  veins:  he 
never  tries  to  check  it,  nay,  fosters  it  by  thinking  of  his  idol 
when  she  is  absent,  and  gazing  at  her  picture.  For  one  day 
when  she  brought  him  a  book  of  photographs  to  look  over,  he 


MIGNON.  125 

found  a  colored  vignette  of  her  that  pleased  him,  and  carefully 
abstracted  it.  But,  after  gazing  at  it  for  a  few  hours  with 
secret  delight,  and  running  the  risk  of  injuring  the  colors  by 
pressing  it  to  his  lips,  his  mind  began  to  misgive  him  that  he 
had  done  an  ungentlemanlike  thing  in  taking  it  without  per- 
mission. The  next  time  Olga  came  in,  he  told  her  with  a 
deep  blush  what  he  had  done,  and  asked  permission  to  retain 
it.  Mrs.  Stratheden  smiled,  and  consented  :  after  all,  it  is  not 
a  very  unusual  or  audacious  request  in  the  present  day  for  a 
man  to  ask  for  a  lady's  portrait,  especially  under  such  excep- 
tional circumstances. 

"  You  must  give  me  yours  in  exchange,"  she  smiles,  thereby 
making  matters  still  easier  for  him. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  he  answers ;  though  I  haven't  been 
taken  since  I  was  at  Oxford,  and  that  was  in  flannels.  A 
man  looks  such  a  fool  in  a  photograph  ;  and  I  take  worse  than 
most  fellows.  One  eye  is  generally  twice  the  size  of  the  other, 
and  my  mouth  literally  from  ear  to  ear." 

Olga  looks  at  him.  It  is  a  comely  face  enough,  though 
utterly  wanting  in  those  fine  curves  and  contours  that  make 
the  beauty  of  Raymond's.  The  skin,  though  pale  now,  is  of 
that  fair  and  healthy  hue  through  which  you  may  see  the 
swift  blood  course  when  he  is  excited  by  exercise  or  strong 
feeling ;  the  white  of  his  eyes  is  almost  as  blue  as  a  bird's 
egg,  and  clear,  without  vein  or  speck  ;  his  teeth  are  white, 
regular,  and  pearly-looking  (though  he  was  once  foolhardy 
enough  to  bite  a  nail  in  two  with  them  for  a  wager)  ;  and  he 
has  that  generally  fresh,  clean  look  that  especially  distin- 
guishes an  Englishman.  Olga  has  conceived  quite  an  affec- 
tion for  her  nursling.  She  will  be  sorry  when  he  is  well 
enough  to  leave  her. 

"  I  should  think  you  might  very  well  be  moved  to  the  Hall 
in  a  day  or  two,"  remarks  Raymond,  cheerfully,  one  morning, 
nearly  three  weeks  after  the  accident. 

Somehow,  Leo  does  not  jump  at  the  suggestion. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  says,  rather  coldly.  "  I  don't  fancy 
I  could  bear  four  miles  of  jolting  just  yet." 

"  Well,  you  know,  old  fellow,"  pursues  Raymond,  confi- 
dentially, "  the  truth  is  that  I  feel  frightfully,  giving  Mrs. 
Stratheden  all  this  trouble.  She  has  behaved  like  an  angel 
about  it,  but  all  the  same  one  can't  help  feeling  it  must  have 

11* 


126  MIGNON. 

been  a  dreadful  bore  for  her.  And  I  am  entirely  responsible 
for  it." 

Leo  is  not  very  strong  yet :  his  lip  quivers ;  he  has  some 
little  difficulty  in  commanding  his  voice. 

"  No  one  can  feel  more  keenly  than  I  do,"  he  says,  at  last, 
in  a  cold  voice,  "  the  trouble  I  have  given  Mrs.  Stratheden, 
and — and  every  one  else :  still " 

"  My  dear  old  Leo,  don't  talk  like  that !  Why,  if  it  had 
only  been  at  home,  you  know  I  wouldn't  have  minded  what 
had  to  be  done.  I  would  have  sat  up  with  you  all  night  my- 
self ;  anything  I  could  do  to  atone  for  my  dreadful  misfortune 
I  should  have  done  thankfully  ;  you  know  that.  It  was  only 
on  Olga — on  Mrs.  Stratheden's  account." 

Gall  to  wormwood !  he  calls  her  Olga !  A  pang  of  bitter 
jealousy  gnaws  poor  Leo's  heart.  Raymond  loves  her  still; 
perhaps — away,  0  horrible  perhaps  !  At  this  moment  Olga 
comes  in,  carrying  a  lovely  rosebud. 

"  For  you,"  she  says,  with  a  smile,  giving  it  into  Leo's 
hand. 

0  poor  tender  little  rosebud !  what  had  you  done  to  deserve 
so  cruel  a  fate  ?  to  be  scorched  by  the  hot  kisses  of  a  mortal ; 
to  have  your  tender  leaves  crushed  against  his  strong  beating 
heart ;  when  you  were  faint  and  athirst,  to  have  only  two  salt 
tears  for  drink.  This  is  your  doom  hereafter ;  but  now  you 
are  taken  with  a  gentle  hand,  placed  in  water,  and  looked  at 
and  praised  and  glorified.  Some  such  a  story  one  has  heard 
of  out  of  the  flower-world  before  to-day. 

"  I  am  telling  Leo,"  cries  Raymond,  cheerfully,  "  that  I 
think  he  might  soon  be  moved  now, — in  a  day  or  two,  per- 
haps." 

"  I  have  been  a  trouble  to  you  and  your  household  too 
long  already,"  says  poor  Leo ;  but  Olga  detects  a  tremor  in 
his  voice. 

"But  I  shall  not  let  you  go,"  she  answers,  smiling,  "  how- 
ever anxiously  you  may  want  to  get  away." 

Leo's  eyes  are  so  extremely  expressive  at  this  moment  that 
Olga  looks  out  of  the  window,  and  Raymond  says  to  himself, 
in  disgust, — 

"  Hang  me  if  I  don't  believe  the  fellow  is  falling  in  love 
with  her !" 

"  I  am  very  proud  of  my  patient,"  pursues  Olga,  "  and  I 


MIGNON.  127 

am  not  going  to  risk  a  relapse.  I  shall  keep  you,  at  all  events, 
for  another  week ;  not  a  day  less." 

Leo  feels  this  to  be  the  happiest  moment  of  his  life.  The 
certainty  of  another  week,  seven  whole  days,  seven  times 
twenty-lour  hours,  in  the  adored  presence, — well,  not  exactly 
that,  but  to  be  under  the  same  roof  with  her, — is  intensest 
bliss. 

Raymond  is  by  no  means  so  enchanted.  An  hour  later, 
when  he  is  strolling  beside  Mrs.  Stratheden  under  the  trees, 
he  says,  petulantly, — 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  Leo  is  head  over  ears  in  love 
with  you.  Under  the  circumstances,  I  think  it  is  neither  very- 
wise  nor  very  kind  to  keep  him  staying  on  here,  when  he  is 
perfectly  well  able  to  be  moved." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Raymond  !" 

"  It  is  not  nonsense,  Olga,  and  you  know  it  perfectly  well." 

"  It  is  nonsense,"  retorts  Olga,  with  a  little  stamp,  and  a 
flash  of  her  eyes ;  "  and  I  forbid  you  to  say  such  a  thing  to 
me  again." 

But,  truth  to  tell,  Olga  is  not  quite  easy  in  her  own  mind. 

"  Of  course,"  says  Raymond,  huffily,  "  that's  only  what  one 
might  expect  from  a  woman.  But  I  did  think  you  were 
different." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  answers  Olga,  with  a  gleam  of  mischief  in 
her  eyes.  "  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  except  me  from  the 
common  herd.  Still,  as  a  rule,  if  you  have  a  theory  it's  more 
comfortable  to  have  it  entirely  free  from  exceptions." 

"  I  don't  know  why  women  were  invented,"  says  Raymond, 
gloomily. 

"  Well,"  replied  Olga,  with  a  little  smile,  "  <  taking  it  all 
round,'  as  you  would  say,  it  might  have  saved  a  good  deal  of 
misery  and  discomfort  if  there  had  only  been  one  sex ;  but  I 
am  apt  to  think  we  might  all  have  found  it  a  little  dull  at 
times." 


128  M1GNON. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Have  you  discovered  what  variety  of  little  things  affect  the  heart, 
and  how  surely  they  collectively  gain  it  ?" 

Lord  Chesterfield' s  Letters. 

THE  happiest  week  of  his  life, — so  Leo  chronicles  his  seven 
days'  reprieve.  Now  that  the  term  of  his  visit  is  definitely 
fixed,  it  costs  him  little  effort  to  throw  off  the  invalid.  He 
walks  about  the  garden  with  his  hostess,  spends  some  time 
every  morning  in  the  stables,  even  goes  out  driving  with  Olga 
in  her  pony-carriage. 

To  think  he  could  ever  became  such  &  faineant  as  to  find 
utter  happiness  in  lounging  by  a  woman's  side,  asking  nothing 
more  than  to  watch  her  as  she  holds  the  ribbons.  Still,  such 
a  case  is  not  without  a  precedent,  even  besides  the  notable  one 
of  Ornphale  and  her  hero. 

Olga  is  conscious  of  a  pang.  There  can  be  no  doubt  now 
as  to  his  love  for  her :  nay,  it  is  so  transparent  that  butler, 
footmen,  and  grooms,  unless  they  are  as  blindly  unobservant 
as  they  have  the  good  manners  to  pretend  to  be,  must  be  per- 
fectly aware  of  it.  True,  he  never  addresses  her  but  with  the 
most  reserved  respect,  but  his  blue  eyes  have  a  gift  of  expres- 
sion which  he  does  not  himself  suspect,  and  even  a  child 
might  notice  the  adoring  looks  he  turns  upon  her  when  she 
addresses  him  on  the  most  trifling  subject.  Olga  is  genuinely 
sorry,  all  the  more  so  because  it  is  impossible  for  any  doubt  to 
creep  into  her  mind  as  to  the  utter  truth  and  disinterestedness 
of  his  affection.  And  yet  he  has  not  spoken  a  syllable  on  the 
subject.  Perhaps  mesmerism  has  established  a  rapport  be- 
tween them  that  enables  her  to  comprehend  his  feelings  as  she 
does.  Not  that  she  can  gauge  their  depth,  their  passion,  their 
intensity :  to  do  that  she  must  have  known  a  like  passion 
herself.  And  if  once  in  a  measure  she  did,  it  is  so  long  ago 
that  the  memory  has  grown  dim.  Mrs.  Forsyth,  after  her 
first  hint,  has  seemed  as  unconscious  of  what  is  going  on  as 
Truscott  or  James  or  William.  When  Olga  does  not  ask  her 


MIGNON.  129 

opinion  upon  a  subject  she  religiously  abstains  from  giving  it : 
this  is  the  key  to  her  influence.  Olga  would  not  have  liked 
interference  from  her  best  friend,  and  has  enough  common 
sense  to  guide  her  on  the  rare  occasions  when  she  does  not 
choose  to  ask  advice.  As  a  rule,  she  consults  Mrs.  Forsyth 
upon  every  subject,  small  and  great,  particularly  on  the  not  un- 
frequent  subject  of  her  lovers. 

The  days  go  by,  the  golden  grains  of  pleasure  mix  with  the 
infinite  sands  of  Time,  and  drip  away  remorselessly  through 
the  hour-glass,  howsoever  Love's  hands  may  outstretch  to  stay 
them,  and  Leo  begins  to  look  unwillingly  at  the  future  that 
will  so  soon  make  this  happiness  a  past.  He  has  regarded  life 
as  a  thing  to  look  forward  to  joyously,  boldly,  as  a  young  eagle 
soars  at  the  sun  :  the  one  thing  that  has  seemed  to  him  awful, 
terrible,  is  the  idea  of  being  cut  out  of  it,  struck  down  in 
youth.  And  now,  though  the  prospect  before  him  is  precisely 
what  it  was  a  month  ago,  though  he  may  hunt,  and  shoot,  fish, 
leap,  run,  box,  as  ever,  though  the  sports  and  pastimes  that 
made  life  what  it  was  to  him  may  be  his  as  freely  as  of  yore, 
he  has  a  horrible  misgiving  that  it  is  not  going  to  be  the  same 
joyous  thing  as  hitherto.  Can  one  face,  one  voice,  make 
pleasure  pain,  pain  pleasure  ?  He  would  not  have  believed  it 
a  few  little  weeks  ago  ;  not  in  his  own  case,  at  least. 

The  possibility  of  winning  Olga  is  as  remote  to  him  as  that 
of  winning  an  angel  from  heaven, — Olga,  who  (in  his  opinion, 
at  least)  possesses  every  charm,  who  is  fit  for  the  highest 
sphere  a  woman  can  attain,  and  who,  he  has  learned  from  Mrs. 
Forsyth,  has  refused  high  rank  and  wealth.  Wealth !  that 
obstacle  is  enough,  let  alone  any  other,  to  fix  an  insuperable 
gulf  between  them.  She  has  everything,  he  nothing, — com- 
paratively speaking,  at  least.  His  father  has  a  fair  income 
and  makes  him  a  handsome  allowance.  But  suppose  the  posi- 
tions reversed,  and  he  were  rich  and  Mrs.  Stratheden  poor : 
how  could  he  for  an  instant  presume  to  think  the  mistress  of 
so  many  perfections  would  see  anything  in  him  to  care  for  ? 
Leo  is  none  the  worse  for  having  such  a  modest  opinion  of 
himself. 

The  last  day  comes.  There  is  still  something  to  cling  to  : 
he  is  to  stay  with  Raymond  until  the  llth,  when  they  start 
for  Scotland  together ;  but  it  will  be  quite  different.  She  will 
ask  him  over  to  lunch  and  to  dine,  perhaps  in  a  formal  way, 

F* 


130  MIONON. 

and  Raymond  will  always  be  there.  This  last  day  is  full  of 
sunshine  and  sweetness :  he  spends  all  of  it  with  her,  looking 
with  hungered  eyes  at  the  dear  face  that  will  be  out  of  his 
horizon  to-morrow,  learning  by  heart  every  turn  of  the  grace- 
ful head,  every  curve  of  the  lip,  the  droop  of  her  broad  eye- 
lids, the  languorous  beauty  of  her  eyes.  Leo,  unversed  in 
feminine  perfections,  has  yet  observed  with  delight  the  small- 
ness  of  her  arched  feet,  the  delicate  beauty  of  her  hands. 
Little  does  Olga  credit  him  with  such  powers  of  observation : 
like  a  woman  who  loves  to  please  and  who  is  not  vain,  she  is 
always  more  conscious  of  the  graces  she  thinks  she  lacks  than 
of  those  it  is  obvious  she  possesses. 

The  short  day  is  sped.  He  has  been  like  her  shadow  all 
day, — in  her  boudoir,  in  the  Folly,  in  the  garden,  on  the 
water,  in  her  pony-carriage.  Raymond  has  not  been  much  at 
The  Manor  House  during  the  last  week ;  he  is  a  little  bit 
offended  with  both  Olga  and  Leo,  though  he  scarcely  knows 
why  himself,  and  there  is  rather  a  pretty  girl  come  to  stay 
with  Kitty  Fox.  Olga  is  genuinely  sorry  to  lose  her  guest, 
though  one  might  imagine  that  to  entertain  a  stranger  for 
nearly  a  month  would  be  apt  to  grow  irksome.  It  has  given 
her  something  to  do,  something  to  think  about, — the  greatest 
boon  to  a  woman  of  her  temperament,  apt  as  she  is  to  grow 
morbid  when  left  to  herself. 

"  If  it  had  been  Raymond,"  she  tells  herself,  "  fond  as  I 
am  of  him,  he  would  have  worried  me  to  death  long  before 
this.  He  would  have  grown  cross  and  restless  and  bored,  and 
would  have  spent  part  of  the  time  making  love  to  me,  and  the 
rest  in  enveloping  me  and  the  whole  sex  in  a  comprehensive 
torrent  of  abuse.  But  this  boy  has  been  so  patient  and  gentle, 
so  thankful  to  everybody,  and  so  good-tempered.  And  it  must 
have  been  frightfully  tedious  to  such  a  strong  young  fellow  to 
lie  on  a  sofa  or  wander  about  after  a  couple  of  women  all  day." 

The  moon  is  riding  aloft  in  the  deep  sky  when  they  come 
out  from  dinner. 

"  Ma  chere,"  says  Olga,  "  send  for  a  shawl  and  come  out: 
it  is  a  positive  sin  to  be  indoors  this  lovely  night.  Come,  Mr. 
Vyner,  let  us  go  down  to  the  water." 

Leo  needs  no  second  command :  he  is  by  her  side  on  the 
lawn.  Mrs.  Forsyth  nods  pleasantly,  saying,  "  I  will  follow 
you,"  which,  however,  she  has  no  intention  of  doing. 


MIQNON.  131 

"  I  like  to  win  people's  gratitude,"  she  has  told  Olga,  on 
occasion,  "  and  I  know  no  way  of  doing  it  thoroughly  or  so 
cheaply  as  by  occasionally  depriving  them  of  the  pleasure  of 
company.  I  do  not  mean  you,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Forsyth  also  finds  a  nap  after  dinner  much  pleasanter 
than  doing  duenna.  So  Olga  and  Leo  take  their  way  across 
the  lawn  to  the  water-side.  It  is  "  as  bright  as  day,"  some 
people  would  say;  but,  oh,  how  utterly  different  is  the  moon's 
lovely  light  either  from  dawn,  or  garish  day,  or  soft  twilight ! 
Who  is  proof  against  the  beauty  of  a  moonlight  night  ? — the 
radiance,  the  tenderness,  the  exquisite  hush  of  it.  Even 
when  the  moon  shines  on  a  stone  pavement  between  two  rows 
of  houses,  it  is  pleasant  to  look  upon  :  how  much  more  when 
she  lies  on  the  bosom  of  a  lake,  on  broad  meadow-lands,  on 
the  folded  cups  of  the  flowers ;  when  she  trickles  through  the 
leaves  of  the  great  trees,  makes  a  silver  mirror  of  each  little 
water-pool,  and,  great  alchemist  that  she  is,  transmutes  even  a 
gravel  path  into  gold  inlaid  with  precious  stones  !  Poor  be- 
songed,  besonneted  moon !  whom  the  prosiest  pen  cannot 
scribble  of  without  trying  to  invent  a  bit  of  original  flattery 
for !  how  weary  must  thou  be  in  thine  own  eternal  perfection 
of  men's  labored  adulation  ! 

Olga's  keen  senses  are  filled  with  the  beauty  of  the  night ; 
she  feels  little  inclination  to  talk  ;  and  Leo's  soul  is  disturbed 
by  love,  by  present  pleasure,  by  remembering  how  these  de- 
licious moments  are  trickling  away,  bearing  him  towards  to- 
morrow,— a  barren,  cold  to-morrow,  since  she  will  have  gone 
out  of  it  for  him.  They  have  strolled  up  and  down,  and  are 
now  sitting  under  a  tree,  watching  the  water.  It  lies  there 
like  a  sheet  of  glass,  and  in  it  you  may  see  the  dark  yews  and 
junipers,  the  tall  shrubs,  the  lofty  trees :  so  bright  it  is  you 
may  see,  too,  the  colors  of  the  reflected  flowers,  azure  and 
orange,  sapphire  and  amaranth.  A  tiny  ripple  steals  across 
and  shivers  the  mirror  into  a  thousand  sprays  of  diamonds. 
Silence  is  perilous :  the  moon  is  allowed  to  be  dangerous  to 
the  senses.  All  at  once,  with  an  irresistible  impulse  of  passion, 
Leo  throws  himself  down  beside  the  woman  he  loves,  and,  in 
a  voice  shaken  and  quivering  with  strong  feeling,  cries  to  her, 
"  What  shall  I  do  without  you  this  time  to-morrow  !" 

Olga  is  startled.  Her  immense  fund  of  tact  and  savior-faire 
does  not  at  this  moment  supply  her  with  the  precise  knowledge 


132  MIGNON. 

of  what  to  do  and  say.  She  feels  intuitively  that  this  genuine 
and  unpremeditated  burst  of  feeling  is  not  to  be  treated  like 
an  ordinary  vulgar  declaration.  The  moonlight  shows  her  the 
workings  of  Leo's  face, — the  mixed  passion  and  reverence  in  it, 
the  love  of  the  woman  controlled  by  the -worship  of  something 
higher  that  he  imagines  in  her.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  a  simple 
passion  that  had  nothing  of  a  higher  adoration  in  it  would 
have  found  but  scant  favor  in  Olga's  eyes. 

She  acts  more  on  the  impulse  to  console  him  than  on  the 
consideration  of  what  prudence  demands,  as  she  puts  out  her 
hand  to  him  and  says,  "  I  shall  miss  you  very  much,  too." 

The  touch  of  her  little  hand  thrills  him  to  his  heart's  core : 
he  covers  it  with  kisses.  And  then  his  heart  breaks  into  a 
rushing  torrent  of  words,  like  a  mountain-stream  that  has  burst 
its  banks. 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me  ;  don't  think  me  mad.  I  never 
meant  to  tell  you — I  don't  know  what  came  over  me  just  now, 
but  I  love  you.  Love  you  !  ah,  I  think  it  must  be  something 
deeper,  stronger  than  love.  Love  seems  such  a  poor  little  weak 
word  to  express  what  I  feel.  Don't  laugh  at  me  !  no,  you  won't 
do  that ;  you  are  too  good  and  kind  ;  but  I  have  never  loved  a 
woman  before,  and  I  feel  that  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  life 
away  from  you.  I  always  looked  forward  to  life :  it  seemed 
to  me  as  long  as  I  could  hunt  and  shoot  I  must  be  happy  ;  and 
now  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  live  through  the  days  without 
the  sight  of  you." 

If  pity  is  akin  to  love,  Olga  must  be  very  near  loving  Leo, 
she  is  so  sorry  for  him.  His  strong  young  frame  is  shaken 
like  a  reed,  his  blue  eyes  devour  her  face  for  one  gleam  of  hope. 
She  lays  a  hand  softly  on  the  fair-haired  head.  A  feeling  of 
tenderness  creeps  over  her  such  as  a  woman  can  only  feel  for  a 
man  younger  than  herself,  or  who  is  sick  or  somehow  needs 
her  protection.  To  the  most  impassioned  words  of  a  man  of 
the  world  she  would  have  listened,  nay,  had  listened,  with  cold- 
ness, even  shrinking.  Leo  inspired  no  such  feeling.  Indeed, 
she  was  very  much  inclined  to  stoop  down  and  kiss  him  for 
sheer  pity's  sake,  only  that  such  a  proof  of  sympathy  might  be 
dangerous. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  she  says,  looking  genuinely  grieved,  and 
speaking  in  the  most  maternal  tone  she  can  command,  "  you 
know  every  one  must  be  in  love  for  the  first  time :  it  is  quite 


MIGNON.  133 

a  natural  disorder"  (she  smiles,  but  he  does  not  respond),  "  and 
has  to  be  gone  through,  like  measles  or  whooping-cough.  But 
you  know  I  am  years  older  than  you.  Think  of  me  as  a  friend, 
an  elder  sister,  think  that  I  am  fond  of  you,  as  indeed  I  am. 
and  that  when  you  want  sympathy  or  help  you  have  only  to 
come  to  me." 

This  magnanimous  offer  does  not  seem  to  make  much  im- 
pression on  Leo.  He  looks  at  her  with  some  reproach. 

"  I  have  read  in  books  of  women  saying  those  sort  of 
things,"  he  says.  "  Of  the  two,  I  had  rather  you  had  been 
angry  with  me  for  my  presumption." 

"  Presumption  !  nonsense !"  replies  Olga.  "A  woman  is 
always  flattered  by  a  sincere  affection  being  offered  her." 

"  Sincere  affection  !"  groans  the  poor  lad.  "  Oh,  if  I  could 
only  make  some  enormous  sacrifice  to  prove  to  you  that  )  love 
you  for  all  time,  all  eternity!" 

At  this  moment  he  is  capable,  were  it  in  his  power,  of  com- 
mitting a  sublime  folly  equal  to  that  of  the  Duke  of  Medina, 
who  for  love  of  Elizabeth  of  France,  Queen  of  Spain,  at  a 
fete  he  gave,  burned  his  palace,  and  with  it  pictures,  tapestries. 
all  he  possessed,  for  the  sake  of  holding  her  in  his  arms  one 
moment  and  whispering  his  love  in  her  ear  as  he  bore  her 
from  the  flames.  Olga  smiles  a  sad  little  smile.  She  has 
heard  these  passionate  declarations  before,  uttered  in  as  good 
faith ;  she  knows  how  these  tropical  flowers,  the  growth  of 
burning  suns,  languish  and  die  under  the  cold  shadow  of 
custom  and  satiety.  And  yet  there  is  something  in  this  young 
fellow  that  stamps  him  different  from  those  who  have  gone 
before :  she  has  a  warmer  liking  for  him  than  she  has  had  this 
many  a  long  day  for  a  man.  If  love  could  only  last !  the  thought 
comes  swiftly  into  her  brain,  and  takes  flight  again  as  quickly. 

"  I  know  you  are  as  far  removed  from  me  as  if  I  were  the 
poorest  beggar,"  Leo  hurries  on,  in  his  impassioned  tones. 
"  How  could  I  expect  you,  the  cleverest,  the  most  beautiful, 
most  charming  woman  in  the  world,  to  look  upon  me  as  any- 
thing but  a  stupid  young  lout,  whom  you  would  have  never 
stooped  to  notice  but  for  that  blessed  accident !" 

"  Leo,"  she  whispers,  calling  him  by  his  name  for  the  first 
time,  "  I  will  not  have  you  talk  in  that  way.  My  dear  boy, 
all  that  I  am  and  have  would  be  a  very  poor  excuse  for  your 
throwing  away  the  best  years  of  your  life  upon  an  old  woman." 

12 


134  MIGNON. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  he  cries,  a  bright-red  flush  mount- 
ing to  his  brow. 

"  I  mean  nothing,"  she  answers,  hastily.  "  I  will  be  your 
best  friend,  as  I  told  you  ;  you  may  come  to  me  when  you 
like,  and  as  often  as  you  like ;  but  never  think,  never  speak  of 
this  again." 

"And  do  you  imagine,"  he  cries,  hotly,  "  that  I  could 
bear  to  see  you  day  after  day,  to  look  at  your  dear,  beautiful 
face,  and  know  that  I  was  never  to  be  anything  more  to  you  ? — 
perhaps  to  see  some  other  man  come  and  steal  you  away  from 
before  my  very  eyes  ?  No  !"  (passionately),  "  I  would  rather 
throw  myself  into  that  lake  !" 

It  is  marvellous  what  great  results  spring  from  trifles. 
Leo,  who  half  an  hour  before  had  not  presumed  even  to  hint 
at  his  love  for  Olga,  is  now  using  language  so  bold  to  her  that 
it  startles  him  when  he  recollects  it  later. 

There  is  silence  between  them :  he  dares  not  plead  his 
cause,  dares  not  ask  for  hope,  and  yet  he  feels  that  to  leave 
her  thus  is  like  tearing  the  heart  from  his  body. 

"  You  will  soon  be  able  to  shoot,  now,"  Mrs.  Stratheden 
says,  wishing  to  break  the  awkwardness  of  the  pause  ;  "  then 
hunting  will  begin :  you  will  go  back  more  keen  than  ever  to 
your  old  pursuits.  It  is  only  idleness  that  has  put  this  mis- 
chief into  your  brain." 

He  looks  up  at  her. 

"  Do  you  believe  what  you  say  ?"  he  asks,  in  a  low,  mortified 
voice.  "  You  have  even  a  poorer  opinion  of  me,  then,  than  I 
thought  for." 

To  this  she  makes  no  answer,  but  looks  with  far-off  eyes  at 
the  water.  After  a  time  she  says,  gently, — 

"  It  is  getting  late  :  we  must  be  going  in." 

"  Not  yet ;  not  yet,"  he  pleads  ;  and  his  soberer  senses  come 
creeping  back  to  him.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  murmurs,  very 
humbly.  "  I  never  meant  to  say  a  word  of  all  this.  Say 
you  forgive  me." 

Olga  turns  her  luminous  eyes  upon  him :  she  does  not  see 
his  soiTowful  face  quite  clearly,  by  reason  of  a  mist  that  has 
gathered  before  them. 

"  Forgive  you  !"  she  says,  softly.  "  What  have  I  to  forgive? 
I  feel  honored  by  your  love, — your  first  love,  as  you  tell  me. 
But  you  know"  (with  a  half  smile)  "  people  never  marry  their 


MIGNON.  135 

first  loves.  Good-by,  dear  Leo.  I  shall  wish  you  good-by 
to-night ;  I  am  going  over  quite  early  to-morrow  to  Kitty  Fox, 
who  wants  to  see  me,  and  Raymond  comes  for  you  at  eleven. 
You  will  be  gone  before  I  return." 

An  icy  chill  creeps  to  Leo's  heart.  The  last  moment  has 
come,  then,  the  actual  moment  of  parting ;  perhaps  he  may 
never  see  her  again.  A  deadly  sickness  comes  over  him : 
garden,  water,  trees,  seem  reeling  before  his  eyes.  Olga  sees 
his  distress,  and  longs  to  comfort  him.  No  one  ever  hated  to 
give  or  to  see  pain  as  she  does  ;  her  sympathy  is  the  only  feel- 
ing that  can  outrun  her  prudence.  She  stoops,  and  lays  her 
lips  on  his  fair  close  curls.  As  if  a  flame  had  scorched  him, 
he  starts  up  with  kindling  eyes,  his  impassioned  face  almost 
handsome  in  the  intensity  of  its  expression. 

"  Kiss  me  once  more,"  he  whispers,  in  a  choked  voice, — 
"  only  this  once."  He  raises  his  lip  to  hers,  and  she  stoops 
and  kisses  him.  Then  she  rises,  and  says,  in  a  quick,  imperi- 
ous voice,  "  Do  not  touch  me  !  do  not  follow  me  !"  and  goes 
swiftly  from  him  towards  the  house.  He  follows  her  with  his 
eyes  until  the  last  fold  of  her  lace  has  disappeared,  and  then 
he  flings  himself  down  beside  the  spot  where  an  instant  ago 
she  stood. 

His  strong  young  frame  is  shaken  by  a  storm  of  sobs.  Sobs  ? 
this  young  Hercules  six  feet  high  ?  He  must  be  very  weak 
still  from  his  wound. 

Olga  enters  the  house  and  goes  to  her  room  like  one  in  a 
trance.  She  flings  herself  into  a  chair ;  it  happens  to  stand  in 
front  of  a  long  mirror. 

"  How  could  I  do  it  ?  how  could  I  do  it  ?"  she  says  over 
and  over  again  to  herself,  and  looks  at  the  figure  in  the  mirror 
to  see  if  some  strange  change  has  come  over  her.  A  slow 
red  color,  born  of  vexed  shame,  mantles  in  her  cheek  ;  she  hides 
it  even  from  herself  with  her  two  hands. 

"  He  was  such  a  boy,  and  I  was  so  sorry  for  him." 

That  is  the  answer  she  gives  to  her  own  question.  But  still 
it  does  not  satisfy  her. 


156  MIGNON. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"La  jolie  femme  n'est  plus  qu'un  luxe  importun,  tin  apanage  inquie"- 
tant,  une  enseigne  p6rilleuse,  qui  a  son  beau  cot6  tourne  vers  la  rue,  et 
dont  vous  n'avez  quo  le  revers ;  ce  n'est  plus  qu'un  engin  a  attirer  la 
foudre."  OCTAVE  FKUILLET. 

MIGNON  has  been  married  three  months.  After  that 
outbreak  of  passion  on  her  wedding-day,  the  reader  will  prob- 
ably expect  to  find  her  at  home  with  her  parents,  whilst  her 
husband  wanders  the  world  broken-hearted.  Very  different, 
however,  is  the  reality.  Sir  Tristram  and  Lady  Bergholt  are 
in  Rome,  living  apparently  in  perfect  amity.  Mignon  is  like 
a  spiteful  child :  when  angered,  she  morally  pinches  and 
scratches  the  offender  vigorously,  but,  being  pacified  by  her 
vengeance,  soon  regains  her  equanimity,  and  expects  her  victim 
to  forget  the  outbreak  as  she  herself  forgets  it.  She  is  capable, 
on  no  very  great  provocation,  of  saying  things  bitter  and  cruel 
enough  to  alienate  friends  and  lovers  for  all  time,  but  trusts  to 
the  same  lovely  mouth  that  has  given  the  offence  to  atone  for 
it  by  a  smile  or  a  kiss. 

Lady  Bergholt  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  her  position.  She 
has  adopted  the  role  of  a  fine  lady  as  if  she  had  played  it  all 
her  life,  and  is  keenly  alive  to  the  advantages  conferred  by 
rank  and  wealth.  She  had  undervalued  them  a  few  months 
ago,  simply  because  they  were  a  sealed  book  to  her ;  now  she 
appreciates  them  to  the  full.  Her  respect  for  Sir  Tristram  is 
increased  by  the  attention  she  sees  universally  paid  to  him, 
nor  can  she  help  being  impressed  by  his  perfect  breeding  and 
unfailing  courtesy  towards  people  in  all  ranks  of  life. 

His  tenderness  towards  herself  is  infinite.  The  world, 
observing  it,  smiles,  and  says,  "  No  wonder  he  is  devoted  to 
such  a  lovely  creature ;"  though  had  the  world  been  witness 
of  a  certain  scene  we  recall  on  an  October  afternoon,  it  might 
deem  it  less  a  matter  of  course.  Mignon  finds  the  adoration 
of  a  middle-aged  husband  the  most  irksome  feature  of  the 
situation  ;  and  yet  how  careful  he  is  not  to  weary  nor  disgust 
her  1  Her  words  are  cut  into  his  heart :  "  You  knew  I  hated 


MIGNON.  137 

you  all  along ,  but  you  would  marry  me"  The  fear  lest  she 
should  some  day  repeat  them  makes  an  arrant  coward  of  him. 
If  they  had  never  been  uttered,  he  would  probably  have  adored 
and  spoiled  her,  but  he  would  not  have  been  the  slave  to  the 
fear  of  contradicting  her  that  he  is  now.  Loving  her  as  idol- 
atrously  as  he  does  (none  the  less  for  her  cruelty,  as  is  the 
habit  of  men),  he  desires  more  than  anything  on  earth  to 
make  her  love  him  in  return,  and  thinks  to  do  so  by  gratifying 
her  every  wish,  ignorant,  as  people  in  love  ever  are,  that  by 
too  much  adoration  he  humbles  himself  in  the  sight  of  his 
divinity. 

Mignon,  fortunately  perhaps  for  herself,  is  cold :  the  benefi- 
cent Providence  who  awards  that  attribute  to  many  lovely 
women  gives  a  security  to  their  possessors  that  no  amount  of 
locks  and  bolts  could  bestow.  "  Love  laughs  at  locksmiths  ;" 
but  a  beautiful  icicle  laughs  at  Love, — which  disconcerts  that 
young  gentleman  far  more.  It  is  very  improbable  that  Mignon, 
in  spite  of  her  youth,  her  loveliness,  and  her  comparative 
indifference  to  her  husband,  will  ever  risk  her  position  and 
personal  comfort  for  an  imprudent  passion.  She  has  no  ardent 
aspirations,  no  hunger  of  the  heart :  to  be  beautifully  dressed, 
to  feel  herself  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  to  live  daintily,  are 
things  infinitely  more  desirable  in  her  eyes  than  the  uncertain 
bliss  and  the  certain  suffering  that  accompany  the  tender 
passion. 

Mignon  has  enjoyed  her  foreign  travel  immensely, — the 
utter  novelty  of  it,  the  cheerful  bustle  of  Continental  towns, 
the  perpetual  feast  of  shop-gazing,  heightened  by  the  delight 
of  having  plenty  of  money  to  spend,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
change  from  being  an  unconsidered  insignificant  person  at 
home  to  a  great  lady,  the  object  of  universal  solicitude  and 
attention. 

"  And  to  think  I  was  so  near  giving  it  all  up !"  she  has 
said  to  herself  more  than  once,  and  a  little  flutter  agitated  her 
breast  at  the  recollection  of  her  narrow  escape.  "  I  might 
have  been  sitting  over  tea  and  shrimps  in  an  attic  now  as  Mrs. 
Oswald  Carey,  or  perhaps  tea  without  the  shrimps.  And  I 
never  cared  two  straws  for  him,  either." 

There  is  one  thing  that  bores  Mignon  stupendously,  and 
that  is  Art. 

"  I  never  want  to  see  a  picture  again  as  long  as  I  live,"  she 
12* 


138  MIQNON. 

remarks,  pettishly,  to  Sir  Tristram,  on  her  arrival  in  the  Eter- 
nal City;  "  and  as  for  statues,  I  hate  the  very  sight  of  them." 

This  is  apropos  of  his  suggesting  a  visit  to  the  Vatican  and 
telling  her  of  the  treat  in  store  for  her  in  the  contemplation 
of  its  treasures. 

"  Hush,  my  child  1"  he  answers,  smiling :  "  don't  let  any 
one  hear  you  utter  such  a  barbarism  !" 

Mignon  pouts  her  adorable  mouth  and  assumes  the  mutine 
expression  that  is  almost  as  irresistible  as  her  smile. 

"  I  don't  care  who  hears  me,"  she  exclaims.  "  I  have  seen 
Holy  Families  enough  in  the  last  two  months  to  pave  London 
with,  besides  getting  the  horrors  from  pictures  of  every  kind 
of  torture,  to  say  nothing  of  the  ugly  saints  and  cadaverous 
martyrs  of  whom  I  should  like  to  have  a  bonfire  made  for  Guy 
Fawkes's  Day.  And  as  for  the  statues"  (with  an  injured  air 
that  makes  him  laugh),  "  I  wonder  you  like  to  take  me  to  see 
them.  I  don't  think  they  are  nice  at  all." 

The  idea  of  the  wonders  of  all  time,  that  millions  have 
gazed  upon  with  devout  adoration  for  their  transcendent  art, 
not  being  nice  is  so  intensely  ludicrous  to  Sir  Tristram  that  he 
goes  off  into  a  peal  of  laughter,  whereat  Mignon  reddens  with 
displeasure. 

"  I  dare  say  I  seem  very  ignorant  to  you,"  she  says,  with  a 
Parthian  glance,  "  but  you  must  remember  that  I  am  very 
young.  You  of  course  cannot  enter  into  my  feelings." 

My  lady  knows  the  exact  joint  of  the  harness  where  to  send 
her  shaft,  and  is  a  very  expert  markswoman. 

Her  husband  winces. 

"  You  shall  not  go  anywhere  that  you  do  not  like,  my  dar- 
ling," he  answers.  "  Go  and  put  on  one  of  your  pretty  Paris 
toilettes.  We  will  drive  in  the  Pincio,  and  can  take  a  look  at 
the  Colosseum  first." 

This  proposition  finds  favor  in  Mignon's  eyes :  she  smiles, 
and  runs  away  to  make  herself  beautiful.  Sir  Tristram  looks 
after  her  with  a  sigh. 

"  If  I  were  twenty  years  younger !"  he  thinks  to  himself. 

There  are  a  good  many  English  in  Rome,  and  among  them 
Sir  Tristram  finds  several  friends  and  acquaintances.  It  is 
with  no  little  pride  that  he  presents  his  lovely  young  wife  to 
them  and  observes  the  unqualified  admiration  that  she  excites. 

Mignon  is  delighted :  life  is  beginning,  she  feels, — the  life 


MIGNON.  139 

for  which  she  bartered  her  beauty.  Just  now  she  is  inclined 
to  think  herself  no  loser  by  the  transaction.  If  my  lady  has 
occasional  fits  of  temper,  she  keeps  them,  as  a  well-bred  woman 
should,  for  her  husband  and  her  maid.  No  one  can  be  sweeter, 
more  angelic,  than  Mignon  when  she  likes ;  and,  truth  to  tell, 
she  is  not  at  all  ill-tempered.  Why  indeed  should  she  be, 
with  everything  her  heart  can  desire  (love  not  being  at  the 
present  included  among  its  desires),  a  magnificent  constitution, 
and  perfect  immunity,  both  physically  and  morally,  from  the 
pains  and  troubles  flesh  is  heir  to  ?  Her  occasional  habit  of 
riding  rough-shod  over  the  feelings  of  others  proceeds  more 
from  a  lack  of  fine  feeling  and  perception  than  from  absolute 
cruelty.  People  who  are  very  thick-skinned  are  not  apt  to 
study  the  shades  and  inflections  that  may  torture  more  deli- 
cately organized  subjects.  Mignon  takes  pains  to  be  charming, 
and  succeeds  perfectly :  has  not  her  lovely  face  already  robbed 
the  task  of  half  its  difficulty?  She  has  not  the  slightest 
mauvaise  honte,  and,  in  the  majesty  of  her  own  beauty,  her 
self-complacency  makes  her  feel  the  equal  of  a  duchess. 

Among  the  English  in  Rome  are  Sir  Josias  and  Lady  Clo- 
ver, nee  Kitty  Fox.  What  need  to  say  that  since  her  marriage 
she  is  known  to  her  friends  by  no  other  name  than  that  of 
"  Sweet  Kitty  Clover"  ?  Marriage  has  not  had  a  sobering 
effect  upon  the  frolicsome  little  lady :  she  is  quite  as  arch  and 
full  of  fun  as  in  her  maiden  days.  She  has  married  a  man 
whom  (if  you  were  a  tyro  in  the  world's  ways,  and  in  those 
ways  much  more  past  finding  out,  the  ways  of  a  woman)  you 
would  pronounce  utterly  unsuited  to  her,  and  the  last  man  in 
the  world  you  would  have  expected  her  to  choose.  But  if  you 
had  qualified  yourself  to  judge  of  the  matter  by  a  study  of  the 
curious  combinations  of  opposite  characteristics  in  the  sexes 
that  go  to  the  making  of  that  exceptional  state  of  bliss,  a 
happy  marriage,  you  would  have  observed  that,  as  a  rule,  that 
bliss  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  those  whose  natures  are  most  op- 
posed to  each  other. 

A  witty,  brilliant  man,  married  to  a  woman  with  the  same 
gifts,  will  be  far  less  likely  to  be  happy  with  her  than  with 
one  who  is  rather  dull,  but  who  has  a  thorough  admiration 
and  respect  for  his  talents ;  and  vice  versa.  A  man  with  a 
high  spirit  is  not  the  happier  for  having  a  wife  of  the  same 
temperament,  and  so  on  through  almost  every  phase  of  char- 


140  MIGNON. 

acter.  Certainly  Miss  Kitty's  chief  idea  in  accepting  Sir 
Josias  was  that  he  would  be  an  excellent  match ;  but  the 
capricious  little  damsel  had  also  a  kind  feeling  for  the  man 
whom  people  wondered  at  her  choosing. 

"  Kitty,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Stratheden  said  to  her,  one  day 
soon  after  the  fian§ ailles  were  announced,  "  are  you  quite  sure 
that  the  choice  you  have  made  will  satisfy  you  ?  Remember 
that,  on  an  average,  you  can  only  enjoy  society  and  the  advan- 
tages your  husband's  money  will  give  you  for  about  four 
hours  of  the  twenty-four  :  there  are  still  the  twenty  left.  For 
the  rest  of  your  life,  or  the  greater  part  of  it,  you  will  prob- 
ably see  him  ten  times  as  often  as  any  other  person ;  is  the 
idea  pleasing  to  you?" 

"  My  dear,  good  angel,"  returns  Miss  Kitty,  mischievously, 
"  I  think  that  ten  times  as  much  of  Sir  Jo's  society  as  of  any- 
body else's  might  be  apt  to  pall  upon  me.  He  is  like  good 
old  furniture,  heavy.  But  at  the  same  time,  you  know,  I  want 
a  make- weight  for  my  own  lightness.  Fancy  if  I  married  a 
madcap  like  myself!  I  know  you  don't  think  so"  (more  se- 
riously), "  of  course  no  one  does,  but  really  and  positively, 
though  he  is  nearly  twenty  years  older  than  me,  and  though 
he  is  slow  and  matter-of-fact,  there  is  something  about  him  I 
do  like  ;  and  you  and  everybody  else  will  see  that  we  shall  be 
very  happy." 

At  such  a  long  and  sensible  speech  from  Miss  Kitty,  Mrs. 
Stratheden  feels  encouraged,  gives  her  a  kiss  and  subsequently 
a  diamond  locket  which  figures  handsomely  in  the  Court  Jour- 
nal among  the  papier  niache  trays,  card-cases,  pen-wipers  and 
flat  candlesticks  presented  on  the  auspicious  occasion  of  her 
marriage. 

Sir  Josias  Clover  is  "  a  very  good  sort  of  man."  To  no  one 
could  such  a  designation  be  more  thoroughly  applicable.  His 
father  rose  from  the  ranks,  and  ended  by  making  a  fortune 
and  receiving  a  baronetcy.  So  the  blood  in  Sir  Josias's  veins 
is  a  good  sturdy  British  red  ;  nor  does  he  ever  pretend  to  him- 
self or  the  world  that  it  is  anything  else.  There  is  nothing 
of  the  parvenu  about  him.  His  father  married  late  in  life  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  curate ;  Josias  went  to  Eton  and  Oxford, 
and  some  years  later,  after  one  or  two  unsuccessful  attempts, 
became  a  member  of  the  "  House."  He  is  the  reverse  of 
brilliant,  but  has  sound  common  sense  and  more  than  ordinary 


MIGNON.  141 

powers  of  application.  He  is  thoroughly  well  read,  and  never 
opens  his  lips  upon  any  subject  he  is  not  conversant  with. 
When  he  does  get  on  his  legs  in  the  House,  he  is  always 
listened  to  with  attention.  His  constituents  are  so  well  satis- 
fied with  him  that  at  the  last  election  no  one  caine  forward  to 
contest  the  seat.  In  appearance  he  is  plain  and  quiet,  as  far 
removed  from  looking  vulgar  or  snobbish  as  he  is  from  having 
the  air  that  poetry  and  tradition  ascribe  to  a  duke  with  eight 
centuries  of  Norman  blood  in  his  veins.  He  is  manly,  good- 
hearted,  and  humble  in  his  own  conceit :  even  now  that  for 
two  months  he  has  been  blessed  in  the  possession  of  Kitty, 
he  can  scarcely  realize  his  good  fortune.  For  he  positively 
adores  this  little  mischievous  fairy,  with  her  quips  and  pranks 
and  wiles,  and,  though  no  one  would  give  such  a  sober  middle- 
aged  man  credit  for  it,  he  is  capable  of  a  love  and  devotion 
that  would  make  many  a  young  Adonis's  passion  fly  up  like  a 
feather  in  the  scale. 

Kitty  is  aware  of  it,  and,  as  she  is  strong,  she  is  generous, 
protecting  him  with  a  little  ostentatious  air  as  delightful  to 
behold  as  a  kitten  patronizing  a  Newfoundland.  She  bewilders 
him  a  little  at  times  with  her  intense  vitality  and  fund  of  spirits, 
but  he  looks  on  at  it  all  with  stolid  benevolence,  like  the  aforesaid 
Newfoundland  when  the  kitten  takes  liberties-.  He  would 
rather,  for  instance,  that  she  did  not  call  him  Jo  and  Sir  Jo, 
the  abbreviation  as  applied  to  him  being  particularly  ludicrous ; 
but  this  of  course  is  its  intense  charm  for  the  little  madcap,  so 
he  e'en  lets  her  have  her  way.  He  has  been  weak  enough  to 
express  to  her  his  astonishment  at  her  choice. 

"Kitty,"  he  has  said,  "  how  could  you  possibly,  such  a  little 
fairy  as  you  are,  have  anything  to  do  with  a  dull  matter-of-fact 
middle-aged  fellow  like  myself?  I  have  no  doubt  people  call 
us  Titania  and  Bottom." 

"  My  dear,"  replies  the  wicked  sprite,  demurely,  "  I  am  of 
a  jealous  turn  of  mind,  and  you  offer  me  a  perfect  secu- 
rity. You  are  not  handsome,  nor  brilliant.  I  do  not  think 
any  woman  but  myself  is  the  least  likely  to  fall  in  love  with 
you." 

He  lays  his  hand  with  an  adoring  gesture  upon  her  golden 
head. 

"  My  darling,"  he  says,  "  all  the  loveliest  women  ever  created 
would  not  be  worth  one  curl  of  this  little  head  to  me." 


142  MIGNON. 

"  Ah !"  she  returns,  with  approving  patronage,  "  a  very 
proper  frame  of  mind  for  a  married  man.  I  trust  it  will  last. 
Now,  dear,  order  the  carriage,  and  come  and  choose  me  a 
bonnet  at  Madame  Chiffon's." 

Mignon  and  Kitty  become  friends  at  once.  Lady  Bergholt 
is  delighted  to  have  a  friend  of  her  own  age  and  way  of  think- 
ing, nor  is  she  less  pleased  to  be  relieved  of  the  constant  attend- 
ance of  Sir  Tristram.  No  more  of  the  Vatican,  no  more  of 
the  Capitol,  no  more  cold  hands  and  feet  with  standing  about 
vast,  vaulty  palaces,  staring  with  wearied  vacant  eyes  from  the 
dull  pictures  to  Murray,  *nd  from  Murray  back  to  the  dull 
pictures. 

"  A  good  Holy  Family.  A  Holy  Family.  A  boy  in  a  red 
cap.  A  good  Virgin  and  Child.  Two  large  landscapes  with 
figures.  A  Virgin  and  Child.  A  Holy  Family.  Portrait 
supposed  to  be  Poggio  Bracciolini.  A  fine  male  portrait.  St. 
Sebastian.  St.  John  preaching  in  the  wilderness.  Crucifixion 
of  St.  Peter.  A  Holy  Family." 

After  Lady  Clover's  arrival,  she  resolutely  refuses  to  enter 
church,  palace,  or  picture-gallery  again  :  she  will  hardly  even  be 
induced  to  drive  round  Rome's  environs.  Every  day  she  calls 
for  Kitty,  or  Kitty  for  her,  and,  beautifully  apparelled,  the  two 
charming  brides  drive  in  the  Pincio,  listen  to  the  band,  and 
distract  the  hearts  of  the  young  Italians  and  English  who  con- 
gregate there  and  stare  at  them  with  no  feigned  admiration. 
Kitty  is  in  point  of  real  beauty  far  inferior  to  Mignon,  but  there 
is  something  so  vivacious,  so  piquante  and  sparkling  about  her, 
that  she  comes  in  for  no  mean  share  of  the  general  approbation. 
Kitty  is  clever  in  her  way,  too,  and  well  informed :  she  speaks 
French  perfectly.  Mignon  does  not  possess  a  single  accom- 
plishment, nor  does  she  care  to.  Sir  Tristram  had  diffidently 
suggested  when  they  first  came  to  Rome  that  she  should  take 
ioMMis  in  singing  and  French,  but  "my  lady"  repudiated  the 
idea  with  scorn. 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  me  to  be  clever,"  she  remarked, 
magnificently :  "  it's  all  very  well  for  plain  women.  Besides^ 
I  have  always  heard  that  men  hate  blue-stockings." 

So  Sir  Tristram  is  fain  to  leave  his  lovely  wife  in  her  igno- 
rance :  she  can  talk  like  other  women,  for  in  these  days  ele- 
gancy and  propriety  of  expression  are  not  necessarily  distin- 
guishing characteristics  of  the  conversation  of  people  of  birth. 


MIGNON.  143 

Sir  Josias  (poor  man  !  his  godfathers  and  godmother  were 
very  hard  upon  him  in  giving  him  such  a  name) — Sir  Josias's 
great  delight  was  to  take  a  quiet  walk  in  the  Pincio,  and  to 
watch,  unobserved  if  possible,  the  carriage  containing  the  two 
lovely  women,  one  of  whom  was  to  his  loyal  heart  the  sweetest 
and  fairest  object  in  creation.  Others  might  yield  the  apple 
to  Mignon,  but  not  Kitty's  husband. 

"  She  is  very  lovely,  of  course,"  he  responded  to  Kitty's 
enthusiastic  admiration  of  her  friend  ;  "  but " 

"  But  me  no  buts,"  quoth  Kitty,  imperiously  ;  "  she  is  the 
loveliest  creature  /  ever  saw  ;  she  is  tne  loveliest  creature  you 
ever  saw.  Come,  say  so  directly  !" 

"  But — you.  May  I  not  but  that  hut  ?"  asks  her  husband, 
with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  In  consideration  of  the  unusual  brilliancy  of  your  repar- 
tee, I  excuse  you,"  replies  Mrs.  Kitty.  "  But  don't  let  any 
one  else  hear  you  say  so,  or  they  will  be  persuading  me  to  shut 
you  up  in  a  lunatic-asylum." 

Sir  Tristram  does  not  often  turn  his  steps  to  the  Park : 
once  or  twice  it  has  made  him  unconquerably  melancholy  to 
see  Mignon  so  radiant  away  from  him,  nay,  so  much  more 
radiant  away  from  him.  And  it  is  absurd,  he  tells  him- 
self, impatiently,  to  see  the  two  old  husbands  always  running 
after  the  two  young  wives.  Sir  Josias  is  nearly  ten  years 
younger  than  Sir  Tristram,  though,  except  in  age,  the  older 
man  has  every  advantage.  No,  he  lacks  one  for  which  he 
would  exchange  a  good  deal  with  the  other.  Sir  Josias's  wil- 
ful incomprehensible  little  wife  is  fond  of  him ;  and  in  his 
most  sanguine  moments  he  dares  not  lay  the  flattering  unction 
to  his  soul  that  Mignon  feels  any  affection  for  him.  So  he 
betakes  himself  to  the  Colosseum  and  falls  into  reveries  about 
the  dead  and  gone  times  when  Rome  was  empress  of  the  world, 
or  to  St.  Peter's,  or  to  the  Vatican,  where  he  spends  most  of 
his  time  in  the  Cortile  di  Belvedere.  Sometimes  he  calls  on 
old  friends ;  but  the  most  delightful  moment  of  the  day  is 
that  in  which  he  runs  up-stairs  and  finds  Mignon  sitting  over 
the  fire  before  she  dresses  for  dinner.  It  is  not  always  fraught 
with  pleasure — it  is  a  frightful  position  for  a  man,  to  be  dying 
to  make  love  to  a  woman,  with  the  conviction  that  she  will 
consider  it  a  stupendous  bore.  The  fact  of  being  the  fair 
one's  husband  and  having  the  right  only  makes  the  position 


144  MIGNON. 

more  painful  for  a  delicate-minded  man  like  Sir  Tristram. 
Mignon,  not  having  a  delicate  mind,  cannot  of  course  be  touched 
by  his  forbearance. 

He  is  longing  to  get  home,  but  his  wife  must  see  Naples, 
and  they  are  to  stay  in  Paris  on  the  way  back,  to  which  she 
looks  forward  immensely  on  account  of  all  the  lovely  things 
she  intends  to  buy  there. 

"  It  will  be  so  nice,"  she  tells  Kitty,  "  if  we  are  there  to- 
gether. You  know  all  the  best  places,  and,  as  I  can't  talk 
French,  you  will  do  everything  for  me,  won't  you  ?" 

And  Kitty  promises,  nothing  loath.  Besides,  she  has  carte 
l^ niche  from  her  husband,  and  intends  to  be  very  magnificent 
in  the  coming  season. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  Besides,  the  knave  is  handsome,  young,  and  hath  all  those  requisites 
in  him  that  folly  and  green  minds  look  after." 

Othello. 

MIGNON  and  Kitty  have  become  so  inseparable  that  it  is 
impossible  for  the  indulgent  husbands  to  think  of  parting 
them.  So  it  is  arranged  that  they  shall  all  go  to  Naples  to- 
gether first,  and  then  to  Paris. 

Mignon  lias  lost  much  of  her  interest  in  Naples  since  some 
one  told  her  that  coral  was  not  becoming  to  fair  people, — her 
desire  to  go  there  having  been  stimulated  by  contemplated 
purchases  in  that  delicate  ware.  Of  Vesuvius  and  Pompeii 
she  knows  little  and  cares  less.  Still,  being  so  near,  it  is  the 
proper  thing  to  go  there.  So  the  lovely  young  wives  and  their 
staid  husbands  set  off  together,  and  the  same  evening  find 
themselves  at  a  hotel  on  the  Chiaja,  facing  the  Bay  of  Na- 
ples. People  cannot  travel  together  without  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  each  other's  little  weaknesses :  thus  Kitty  makes 
the  discovery  before  very  long  that  Lady  Bergholt  is  rather 
selfish,  and  not  quite  so  angelic  as  she  looks ;  indeed,  her  maid 
has  confided  to  Lady  Clover's  maid  that  she  has  once  been 
called  a  fool,  and  once  had  her  face  slapped,  on  the  severe  pro- 
vocation of  pulling  "  my  lady's"  golden  locks.  Mignon  wishes 


MIGNON.  145 

Kitty  would  not  be  always  making  fun  of  everybody  and 
everything.  Still,  the  two  are  as  fast  friends  as  ever,  and 
rarely  apart.  Brides  of  a  few  months  are,  as  a  rule,  fond  of 
being  left  tete-a-tete  with  their  husbands,  and  are  apt  to  be  a 
little  jealous  of  intruders,  especially  of  their  own  sex  ;  but 
this  is  not  the  case  with  the  two  in  question,  and  they  have  a 
perfect  security  against  any  rivalry  in  each  other  in  the  small 
value  they  place  on  the  conquest  of  their  lords. 

"  Kitty,"  hazards  Sir  Josias  one  day,  in  his  quiet  way, 
"  your  friendship  with  Lady  Bergholt  is  so  very  warm  that  I 
fear  it  will  come  to  an  untimely  end." 

"  Not  yet,"  replies  Kitty,  who  is  perched  upon  a  table,  nod- 
ding at  him  like  some  wise  little  bird. 

"  How  long  is  it  warranted  to  last  ?" 

"  How  long  ?"  (reflectively).  "  Oh,  until  we  both  take  a 
fancy  to  the  same  man." 

Sir  Josias  opens  his  eyes  a  little  wider  than  usual. 

"  Oh,  then  you  contemplate  such  a  possibility  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  do"  (demurely).     "  Don't  you  ?" 

"  I  confess  that  contingency  had  not  occurred  to  me,"  re- 
plies Sir  Josias,  with  a  shade  of  stiffness  that  makes  the 
corners  of  his  malicious  little  wife's  mouth  twitch. 

"  Well,"  proceeds  Kitty,  "  here  we  are  perfectly  safe  :  she 
is  not  afraid  of  Sir  Tristram  falling  in  love  with  me,  and  I" 
(slyly)  "  have  every  confidence  in  you,  dear ;  but  in  Paris,  or 
at  all  events  in  London,  we  shall  both  have  many  amiable  and 
handsome  young  men  in  our  train,  and  ill  luck  may  order  it  so 
that  we  shall  both  take  a  fancy  to  the  same  one.  Then  of 
course  our  friendship  will  come  to  an  end." 

"  Kitty !"  expostulates  long-suffering  Sir  Josias,  "  I  think 
you  carry  your  love  of  joking  a  little  too  far." 

"Joking!"  repeats  Kitty,  calmly.  "I  never  was  more 
serious  in  my  life.  Pray,  have  you  not  told  me  a  thousand 
times  that  I  am  the  loveliest,  the  most  charming  creature  in 
the  world?" 

Sir  Josias  is  silent. 

"  Answer  me  directly,  Jo,  if  you  please"  (with  a  little 
stamp).  "  Have  you  or  have  you  not  told  me  so?" 

"  And  if  I  have  been  so  foolish,  what  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  did  not  mean  it,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did.     But " 

a  13 


146  MIONON. 

"  You  know  I  hate  that  word,"  says  Kitty,  tyrannically. 
"  Well,  if  I  am  so  lovely,  and  if  I  am  to  go  into  society  (I 
suppose  you  intend  me  to  go  into  society?) " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Do  you  not  suppose  that  other  men  besides  yourself  will 
fall  victims  to  my  charms?  Every  one  knows  that  /  have 
no  heart ;  Mignon  has  less  still ;  but  we  have  vanity,"  utters 
"  my  lady,"  superbly,  "  and  some  day  our  vanity  will  probably 
cause  us  to  clash." 

"  Oh  !"  utters  Sir  Josias,  relieved.     "  Still " 

"  If  anything,  I  dislike  still  more  than  but"  interrupts 
Kitty.  "  Jo,  dear." 


"  Should  you  like  to  kiss  me  ?"  Arid  she  purses  up  her 
rosebud  of  a  mouth  in  the  most  inviting  manner. 

Sir  Josias  is  about  to  avail  himself  of  this  affectionate  invi- 
tation, but  he  is  never  very  quick  in  his  movements.  As  he 
comes  close  up  to  her,  she  slips  off  the  table,  and,  with  a 
wicked  little  peal  of  laughter,  escapes  through  the  door. 

They  have  done  Naples,  have  been  to  the  Museum,  to  the 
church  of  many  steps,  to  the  Opera,  have  inspected  the  coral- 
shops,  have  driven  up  and  down  the  Chiaja  and  seen  pretty 
Princess  Marguerite,  they  have  been  to  Sorrento,  Herculan- 
eum,  Pompeii,  have  bought  basketfuls  of  flowers  from  the 
Neapolitan  flower-sellers,  and  been  delighted  by  hearing  Santa 
Lucia  sung  under  their  windows.  The  weather  has  been 
lovely :  they  have  had  ten  days  of  golden  sunshine  and  sap- 
phire seas  and  skies.  But  their  hearts  are  in  Paris,  the  fair 
ones'  hearts,  at  least,  and  the  husbands  have  the  consoling 
thought  that  there  they  will  be  near  home,  which  both  are 
beginning  to  long  anxiously  for.  They  are  to  return  by 
Florence,  Bologna,  Genoa,  and  Nice :  a  friend  of  Sir  Tris- 
tram's has  offered  to  bring  his  yacht  round  from  Naples  to 
Genoa,  and  take  their  party  from  the  latter  place  to  Nice, 
wind  and  weather  favoring.  The  elements  are  propitious,  and 
they  all  agree  that  this  is  one  of  the  most  charming  days  of 
the  whole  tour.  There  is  a  sun  that  makes  you  think  of  an 
English  June,  though  it  is  only  the  first  week  in  February, 
the  sky  is  "  Italian,"  the  waters  blue  and  dancing,  not  dancing 
enough  to  give  any  one  an  uncomfortable  sensation  but  the 
maids  (maids  have  quite  exceptional  faculties  of  being  sea-sick), 


MIGNON.  147 

and  the  scenery  is  lovely.  It  is  a  charming  drive  along  the 
Cornice  road,  with  its  alternate  wild  picturesqueness  and  rich 
cultivation,  the  bold  precipitous  cliffs  lashed  by  surf,  the 
great  expanse  of  many-colored  sea,  blue,  purple,  rosy-hued,  or 
emerald  in  the  varying  light,  the  ruined  strongholds  standing 
in  bold  relief  from  their  rocky  background,  the  narrow  streets 
and  sharp  turns  round  which  your  vetturino  loves,  with  a  wild 
whoop,  to  send  his  team  full  gallop,  and  did  it  so  happen  that 
another  carriage  met  yours  at  that  particular  angle,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  show  cause  why  you  should  not  then  and  there 
be  launched  into  eternity.  And  besides  the  wild  grandeur  of 
frowning  rocks,  of  breakers,  and  of  Saracen  towers,  there  are 
groves  of  sad-colored  olives  and  green  pines,  there  are  cacti  and 
gigantic  aloes,  oleanders,  citrons,  myrtle,  orange-trees  and 
feathery  palms.  Sometimes  you  come  across  a  little  church 
peeping  heavenwards  out  of  a  cluster  of  cypresses,  sometimes 
a  pretentious  cathedral  rears  its  head  proudly  from  an  ancient 
town  ;  here  you  may  see  the  remains  of  a  Roman  bridge,  there 
the  decayed  palace  of  some  once  powerful  Italian  noble,  whose 
very  name  is  forgotten  to-day.  But  still  I  incline  more  to  the 
view  from  the  sea ;  for,  if  you  are  not  a  victim  to  mal  de  mcr, 
to  what  scene  does  not  the  sea  lend  beauty  and  grandeur,  most 
of  all  the  heaven-colored  Mediterranean  ? — 

"  0  fair  green-girdled  mother  of  mine, 
Sea  that  art  clothed  with  the  sun  and  the  rain." 

So  sings  our  grandest  poet  of  to-day.  What  pity  that,  with 
his  transcendent  genius,  his  divine  gift,  he  has  used  it  so 
that  if  one  quotes  his  exquisite  lines  one  hesitates  to  name 
their  author  ! 

From  the  deck  of  the  Merveilleuse,  Mignon  contemplates 
the  lovely  panorama,  whilst  the  yacht's  owner  watches  her 
furtively  and  thinks  "Idalian  Aphrodite"  herself  could  not 
have  been  more  dangerously  fair.  "  What  luck  some  men 
have  I"  he  ejaculates,  the  object  of  his  envy  being  at  this 
moment  Sir  Tristram.  Mignon  is  looking  at  the  range  of 
mountains,  now  and  again  snow-capped,  at  the  wooded  hills, 
the  cliffs  crimson  and  purple  in  the  sunshine,  the  many-tongued 
sea,  oh,  so  blue,  so  blue,  lapping  against  their  base,  and  creeping 
up  the  bays  to  the  feet  of  little  villages  nestling  against  a  back- 
ground of  olives  and  pines,  with  here  and  there  a  church 


148  MIGNON. 

standing  erect,  whose  faint  call  to  prayer  is  borne  to  them  over 
the  glittering  water,  and  the  gloomy  frowning  towers  that  once 
WITC  dircly  needed  against  the  lawless  crews  who  sailed  under 
the  black  flag.  Even  Mignon,  with  so  narrow  a  soul  for  beauty, 
linds  the  scene  passing  fair ;  and  Kitty  is  so  enthralled  that 
she  is  almost  silent. 

It  is  moonlight  when  they  are  put  on  shore  at  Nice.  Four 
days  later  they  are  in  Paris.  Mignon  is  delighted,  enchanted  : 
no  matter  how  her  companions  croak  and  bemoan  the  altera- 
tions since  the  war.  She  looks  out  of  her  room  in  the  Hotel 
Bristol  on  the  Place  Vendome  :  how  should  she  be  shocked  by 
the  absence  of  the  grand  column  that  she  never  knew  ?  the 
Tuileries  is  a  picturesque  ruin  to  her,  not  a  heart-breaking 
sight,  as  heart-breaking  almost  to  English  as  to  French  eyes ; 
the  grievous  change  in  the  Bois  cannot  affect  one  who  knew  it 
not  in  the  days  of  its  glory.  There  are  the  shops, — the  big 
diamonds  and  pearls  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  the  fabulous  bon- 
bons, the  bouquets  of  exquisite  flowers  thrice,  nay,  five  times 
the  size  of  English  bouquets,  the  silversmiths'  windows  piled 
up  with  what  looks  at  a  little  distance  like  thousands  of  silver 
eggs,  but  proves  to  be  the  bowls  of  myriad  spoons,  the  fan-, 
glove-,  lace-shops,  the  wonders  of  the  Palais  Royal.  "  My 
lady,"  too,  has  a  taste  for  dainty  dishes,  and  enjoys  extremely 
the  delicious  little  dinners  at  restaurants  of  note.  The  fact 
that  dinners  there  since  the  war  cost  a  small  fortune  is  also, 
or  would  be  if  she  knew  it,  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference 
to  her,  as,  with  her  accession  to  wealth,  her  ideas  have  ex- 
panded until  they  are  nothing  less  than  magnificent.  Sir 
Tristram  is  rich  and  generous  :  it  has  not  occurred  to  him  yet 
to  question  any  fancy  of  Mignon's,  if  its  gratification  only  de- 
pends upon  money. 

They  have  been  in  Paris  only  three  days.  Kitty  and 
Miguon  are  driving  up  the  Champs  Elyse"es  towards  the  Bois, 
when  suddenly  Lady  Clover  utters  an  exclamation  and  calls 
to  the  coachman  to  stop. 

"  Raymond,  by  all  that's  wonderful !"  she  cries,  as  the  car- 
riage stops,  arid  that  very  handsome  young  man  disengages  his 
arm  from  another  man's  and  comes  towards  her. 

"  Kitty,  by  all  that's  charming !"  he  replies,  taking  off  his 
hat.  "  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons,  Lady  Clover ' 

Therewith  his  eyes  wander  to  her  companion,  and  as  he 


MIONON.  149 

recognizes  the  lovely  face  a  slight  color  deepens  in  his  own,  a 
faint  pink  responds  to  it  from  Mignon's. 

"  Lady  Bergholt,  Mr.  L' Estrange — I  am  not  sure  if  you 
know  each  other,"  exclaims  Kitty.  "  Have  you  met  before  ?" 

"  Once,"  he  answers,  with  a  meaning  smile ;  and  the  color 
deepens  still  more  on  Mignon's  peach-like  cheek. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  Who  are  you  with  ?  Would  you 
not  like  to  come  with  us  ?"  asks  Lady  Clover  in  a  breath. 

"  I  should,  immensely — oh,  I  can  leave  him.  We  were  only 
having  a  stroll,"  answers  Raymond,  in  inverse  order  to  the 
questions  propounded  ;  and  thereupon,  with  the  inconsiderate- 
ness  that  Englishmen  are  wont  to  exhibit  to  one  another,  and 
which  is  never  resented  when  there  is  a  lady  in  the  case,  Ray- 
mond mounts  into  the  carriage  as  the  servant  opens  the  door 
for  him,  and  gives  an  unceremonious  nod  over  his  shoulder  to 
the  friend  who  is  lounging  in  the  distance,  trying  to  look  un- 
conscious, and  wondering  who  the  deuce  those  two  lovely 
women  are  who  looked  so  pleased  to  see  L' Estrange. 

As  Raymond  sits  opposite  to  Lady  Bergholt,  three  lines  of 
his  favorite  poet  come  to  his  mind : 

"  Filled  full  with  life  to  the  eyes  and  hair, 
As  a  rose  is  fulfilled  to  the  roseleaf  tips 
With  splendid  summer  and  perfume  and  pride." 

"  And  pray,  sir,"  cries  Kitty,  "  what  brings  you  here,  when 
you  ought  to  be  hunting  the  wily  fox  ?" 

"  I  got  a  fall  a  fortnight  ago,"  he  answers,  "  and  the  brute 
rolled  on  my  leg.  No  bones  broken,  but  I  shan't  be  able  to 
grip  a  horse  again  this  season.  So  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  London  or  Paris." 

"  Poor  boy  !"  says  Lady  Clover,  patronizingly.  "  Well, 
what's  the  news  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  ever  since  Oc- 
tober ?  I  have  often  pictured  you  to  myself  broken-hearted 
since  I  married !" 

"  So  I  was  ;  so  I  am  still, — inconsolable.  The  only  thing 
that  has  at  all  raised  my  spirits  has  been  thinking  how  fright- 
fully Sir  Josias  must  be  boring  you." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  He  is  a  most  amusing  companion,"  re- 
torts Kitty,  mendaciously.  "  And  so  good-tempered.  We 
have  never  had  a  word, — not  once ;  and  travelling  is  the  most 
trying  ordeal  for  husbands  and  wives  that  I  can  imagine.  My 

13* 


150  MIGNON. 

dear  Raymond,  picture  to  yourself  what  we  should  have  been 
after  three  months'  foreign  travel  together." 

Raymond  and  Kitty  were  contemporaries  in  petticoats :  so 
this  franchise  may  be  considered  pardonable. 

"  My  dear,  we  should  have  adored  each  other  as  at  the  first 
day,"  returns  Raymond,  imperturbably.  "  Pray  don't  give 
Lady  Bergholt  any  unfair  impressions  about  me :  the  sweet- 
ness of  my  temper  is  a  proverb  in  our  part  of  the  country." 

"  Then  don't  risk  it  by  marrying." 

"  I  don't  intend  to.  I  never  saw  a  woman  I  wanted  to 
marry, — present  company  of  course  excepted." 

He  is  speaking  to  Kitty,  but  his  eyes  steal  one  furtive 
glance  at  Mignon. 

"  People  who  tell  stories  ought  to  have  good  memories,'* 
cries  Lady  Clover.  "  Why,  it  is  not  two  years  since  you  were 
button-holing  every  one  about  your  hopeless  passion  for  Mrs. 
Stratheden." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  returns ;  "  that  is  true  :  thanks  for  remind- 
ing me.  I  have  had  a  good  many  companions  in  woe  there. 
She  has  another  broken  heart  to  answer  for  since  I  last  saw 
you.  By  the  way,  you  remember  my  friend  Vyner's  accident?" 

"  When  Mrs.  Stratheden  behaved  with  such  heroism  ?  Of 
course  he  fell  in  love  with  her.  Why,  my  dear  Raymond,  I 
could  have  told  you  that  would  happen  at  the  time,"  says 
Kitty,  with  a  little  air  of  superior  wisdom.  "  Well,  I  suppose 
his  heart  is  mended  again  by  now, — like  yours." 

"  Indeed  it  is  not,"  answers  Raymond.  "  I  never  saw  a 
fellow  take  a  thing  so  to  heart.  He  has  lost  about  two  stone, 
and  doesn't  seem  to  care  for  anything  that  he  used  to.  He 
rides  awfully  hard,  too :  sometimes  I  think  he  wants  to  break 
his  neck." 

"  Who  is  this  fascinating  Mrs.  Stratheden  ?''  asks  Lady 
Bergholt,  with  an  unconscious  touch  of  pique.  Somehow,  it 
jars  upon  her  to  hear  other  women  praised. 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  repeats  Raymond.  "  I  was  going  to  say  the 
most  charming  woman  in  the  world.  I  will  say  almost  the 
most  charming."  And  his  eyes  accentuate  his  meaning. 

They  are  making  the  "  tour  du  lac,"  going,  as  is  the  custom, 
at  a  foot-pace.  Raymond  is  conscious  of  the  attention  excited 
by  his  fair  vis-d-vis:  it  pleases  his  vanity  to  be  seen  in  com- 
pany with  two  lovely,  perfectly-dressed  women,  for  women  I 


MIGNON.  151 

must  by  courtesy  call  these  two  girls,  both  of  whom  are  only 
just  eighteen.  Mr.  L'Estrange  comes  in  for  a  considerable 
share  of  attention  from  the  fair,  but  he  has  no  eyes  for  any  but 
the  ones  he  is  with. 

At  the  door  of  their  hotel  they  meet  the  two  husbands.  Sir 
Tristram  greets  Raymond  heartily,  and  asks  him  to  dine  with 
them.  Sir  Josias  treats  him  with  undemonstrative  politeness. 

"  Pray,  my  dear,"  he  asks  his  wife,  a  little  later,  "  do  you 
begin  to  feel  your  friendship  for  Lady  Bergholt  on  the  wane 
yet?" 

Clever  little  Kitty  understands  him  at  once. 

"  Why,  you  goose,"  she  says,  "  I  look  upon  Raymond  as  my 
brother." 

"  Then  you  have  no  objection  to  his  falling  in  love  with  your 
friend?" 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"  That  is  fortunate,"  observes  Sir  Josias,  dryly. 

"  It  will  be  '  diamond  cut  diamond,'  "  laughs  Kitty.  "  I 
don't  know  which  has  the  least  heart  or  the  most  vanity." 

Raymond  L'Estrange  is  susceptible;  his  principles  have 
been  slightly  impaired  by  two  seasons  in  London,  and  by  a 
course  of  reading  which,  however  interesting  and  instructive, 
is  hardly  wholesome  for  a  very  young  man.  Alfred  de  Musset 
and  Swinburne  he  swears  by;  Rousseau,  Balzac,  Gauthier, 
Feydeau,  and  Arsene  Houssaye  he  has  read  with  avidity; 
from  Rochefoucauld  and  Lord  Chesterfield  he  has  culled  some 
useful  hints :  it  is  not  therefore  to  be  supposed  that,  when  he 
finds  himself  in  danger  of  becoming  deeply  interested  in  his 
friend's  wife,  he  should  hasten  to  put  the  sea  or  some  impos- 
sible distance  between  her  and  himself.  On  the  contrary,  he 
passes  as  much  time  as  possible  in  her  company,  and  the  fair 
one  is  eminently  gratified  by  his  attentions.  Raymond  gives 
the  whole  party  a  recherche  little  dinner  at  the  Cafe  Anglais ; 
he  takes  a  box  for  them  to  see  Schneider ;  he  sends  to  both 
ladies  the  most  exquisite  bouquets. 

"  My  dear  Raymond,"  says  wicked  Kitty  one  day  when 
they  are  alone,  "  what  a  fortune  these  little  attentions  to  me 
are  costing  you  !  I  really  did  not  know  you  were  still  so  fond 
of  me.  Pray  be  careful  not  to  excite  poor  Sir  Jo's  suspicions, 
It  is  very  prudent,  though,  of  you  always  to  treat  Mignon  in 
the  same  way,  and  makes  a  most  excellent  blind." 


152  MIGNON. 

Raymond's  handsome  mouth  curves  into  a  smile. 

"  What  a  witch  you  are,  Kitty !  But  really  she  is  adorable, 
is  she  not?  What  an  awful  shame  her  marrying  a  man  so 
much  older  than  herself !  I'm  awfully  fond  of  Sir  Tristram  : 
he's  a  thundering  good  fellow  :  still,  thirty  years  is  a  horrible, 
an  unnatural  disparity.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  forgot." 

u  You  need  not  beg  my  pardon,"  retorts  Lady  Clover,  with 
some  tartness.  "  Jo  is  only  nineteen  years  and  eleven  months 
older  than  I  am ;  and  I  would  not  have  married  a  young  man 
for  the  world.  You  think  of  nothing  but  yourselves,  and  are 
as  fickle  as — as " 

"  A  woman  ?"  suggests  Raymond. 

"  No,  sir,  not  at  all.  Women  are  not  fickle :  they  know 
their  own  minds,  and  once  they  choose  a  man,  if  they  are 
worth  anything,  they  stick  to  him, — which  you  young  men 
don't." 

"  Charming  for  Sir  Josias !"  ineers  Raymond.  "  You  and 
Lady  Bergholt  seem  tremendous  friends.  Does  she  share 
your  sentiments?" 

"  If  she  does  not,  she  ought  to.  She  owes  everything  to 
Sir  Tristram." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  much  obligation,"  .retorts  Ray- 
^mond.  "  She  gives  him  her  exquisite  self  in  return." 

Kitty  makes  a  little  scornful  gesture.  Looking  at  it  from 
a  woman's  point  of  view,  she  thinks  the  return  a  very  indif- 
ferent one. 

"  I  see  you  are  very  far  gone,"  she  remarks  ;  "  but  I  am 
happy  to  tell  you,  my  dear,  that  you  are  wasting  your  time. 
If  I  were  not  sure  of  it,  I  should  not  think  it  right  to  en- 
courage you  by  allowing  you  to  go  about  everywhere  with  us." 

This,  delivered  with  an  air,  by  a  little  arch  flirt  of  eighteen, 
is  too  much  for  Raymond's  gravity  ;  and  he  laughs  outright. 

"  May  Lady  Clover  long  practise  what  she  preaches !"  he 
says. 

Meantime,  Sir  Tristram  has  not  been  unobservant  of  the 
effect  produced  by  his  wife  on  Raymond.  To  say  he  has  not 
felt  a  pang  of  jealousy  at  seeing  these  two  handsome  heads 
whispering  together,  would  be  to  say  what  every  one  would 
feel  to  be  an  absurdity.  But  he  has  said  this  to  himself: 

"  She  is  beautiful :  no  man  can  look  upon  her  without  feel- 
ing admiration,  perhaps  love  for  her.  I  must  make  up  my 


MIONON.  153 

mind  either  to  shut  her  up  and  let  no  one  see  her,  and  in  so 
doing  secure  our  mutual  wretchedness  and  perhaps  drive  her 
into  infidelity.  The  other  course  is  to  put  no  restraint  upon 
her, — to  let  her  have  as  much  admiration  and  enjoyment  as 
her  own  beauty  and  my  money  can  command.  I  think" 
(sighing),  "  ambition  is  a  stronger  motive  power  in  her  than 
love,  and  in  the  long  run  it  will  be  better  for  me  if  it  is  so. 
Kaymond  is  the  first ;  but  am  I  to  suppose  he  will  be  the  last  ? 
How  Fred  will  gird  at  me  for  my  folly !  I  suppose  I  have 
been  a  fool ;  but  I  don't  know  that  if  I  could,  I  would  undo 
the  work  of  the  last  six  months." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  The  mare  with  a  flowing  tail  composed  an  eighth  species  of  woman. 
These  are  they  who  have  little  regard  for  their  husbands  ;  who  pass  away 
their  time  in  dressing,  bathing,  and  perfuming;  who  throw  their  hair 
into  the  nicest  curls,  and  trick  it  up  with  the  fairest  flowers  and  gar- 
lands. A  woman  of  this  species  is  a  very  pretty  thing  for  a  stranger  t$> 
look  upon,  but  very  detrimental  to  the  owner,  unless  he  be  a  king  or 
prince,  who  takes  a  fancy  to  such  a  toy." 

SIMONIDKS. 

IT  is  the  first  week  in  May.  The  fashionable  papers  have 
duly  chronicled  that  Sir  Tristram  and  Lady  Bergholt  have 
arrived  at  No.  —  Eaton  Square  for  the  season.  They  have 
spent  the  last  two  months  at  The  Warren,  which  has  been 
transformed  into  a  little  paradise.  Sir  Tristram  thoroughly 
enjoys  an  English  spring  in  the  country  after  his  long  absence, 
but  Mignon,  who  has  spent  nearly  every  spring  of  her  life  in 
sight  of  the  hills  and  dales  and  woods  her  lord  finds  so  charm- 
ing, is  impatient  to  begin  her  life  in  London.  Sir  Tristram 
has  decided  that  she  is  not  to  see  Bergholt  until  after  the  sea- 
son, by  which  time  the  various  alterations  he  has  planned  will 
be  completed  and  a  proper  staff  of  servants  sent  down.  My 
lady  has  been  very  gracious  to  her  mother  and  sisters,  and 
even  to  her  father.  She  no  longer  feels  any  grudge  against 
him  now  that  her  marriage  has  turned  out  so  well.  Still,  that 
a* 


154  MIGNON. 

is  no  thanks  to  him,  she  tells  herself.  At  her  husband's  sug- 
gestion, she  has  brought  each  member  of  the  family  a  hand- 
some present  from  abroad,  not  forgetting  the  old  housekeeper, 
her  former  nurse. 

.Mi^uon  is  very  sweet  and  gracious  to  every  one:  her  foot 
is  on  the  necks  of  her  people :  they  vie  with  each  other  in 
attentions  and  care  for  her.  At  first  this  triumphant  home- 
coming is  immensely  gratifying  to  her  ladyship,  but  she  soon 
wearies  of  it  after  she  has  exhibited  her  lovely  toilettes,  her 
jewels,  the  treasures  she  has  collected  in  her  travels.  There 
is  no  Cascine,  no  Pincio,  no  Chiaja,  no  Bois,  in  which  to  dis- 
play her  beauty  and  her  fine  clothes  of  an  afternoon  ;  she 
misses  the  admiration  of  many  eyes,  and  finds  driving  up  and 
down  steep  hills  and  looking  at  lovely  views  extremely  weari- 
some and  monotonous,  in  spite  of  her  handsome  carriage  and 
liveries.  She  yawns,  reads  countless  novels,  and  is  perpetually 
entreating  her  husband  to  take  her  to  London  when  he  goes 
up  for  the  day  on  business ;  but  he  puts  her  off  with  ex- 
cuses :  the  truth  is,  he  does  not  want  her  to  be  seen  until  she 
breaks  with  fitting  state  upon  the  London  world  in  all  her 
loveliness.  She  longs  after  Kitty,  who  is  at  home  at  Elmor, 
a  charming  old  place  which  Sir  Josias's  father  bought  twenty 
years  ago  from  a  bankrupt  nobleman.  Mignon  wishes  she 
were  at  Bergholt :  she  would  be  near  Kitty  and — Mr.  L'Es- 
trange.  It  would  be  pleasant  having  him  to  come  in  and  chat 
with  and  flatter  her.  Here  there  is  literally  no  one:  even 
poor  Oswald  Carey  has  gone  off  to  India, — Oswald,  her  first 
victim. 

"  Pooh  !"  thinks  Mignon :  "  he  was  nothing  to  be  proud  of!" 

At  Easter,  Gerry  comes  to  The  Warren,  looking  so  hand- 
some and  in  such  spirits,  so  grateful  to  Sir  Tristram,  so  full  of 
love  and  admiration  for  his  beautiful  sister.  "  Oh,  Yonnie ! 
what  a  clipper  you  have  grown  I"  he  says.  "  How  you  will 
take  the  shine  out  of  some  of  them  this  season  !"  He  asks 
a  thousand  questions :  who  is  to  present  her ;  what  she  will 
wear ;  if  she  is  to  have  a  box  at  the  Opera.  Mignon  has  not 
thought  about  the  Opera,  and  forthwith  asks  the  question  of 
Sir  Tristram :  she  has  not  the  slightest  Itonte,  true  or  false,  in 
asking  for  anything  she  fancies. 

"  My  darling,  you  would  find  it  a  great  bore.  You  shall 
have  a  box  as  often  as  you  care  to  go,  but  we  shall  probably 


MIGNON.  155 

dine  out  a  good  deal,  and  it  is  hardly  worth  while  taking  one 
so  late  in  the  opera  season.  And  I  don't  think  you  are  very 
enthusiastic  about  music.  Don't  you  remember  how  you 
yawned  at  the  Opera  in  Naples?" 

"  Oh,  that  was  different,"  pouts  Mignon.  "  There  were  no 
people  and  no  dresses  there  one  cared  to  see." 

"  Well,  my  love,  if  you  care  as  much  for  it  as  you  think 
you  will,  I  promise  you  a  box  for  next  season." 

The  subject  drops ;  but  Mignon  feels  rather  aggrieved.  In 
her  idea  it  is  an  important  part  in  the  role  of  a  grande  dame 
to  have  her  box  at  the  Opera. 

The  two  dull  months  are  over  now, — months  that  have  been 
glorious  with  sunshine,  and  whose  sudden  showers  have  turned 
every  twig  into  a  jewelled  sceptre,  months  when  the  birds  have 
poured  their  thrilling  music  from  every  bush  and  shrub  and 
tree,  months  when  Nature  has  sown  every  bank  and  hedge- 
row with  many-colored  wild  flowers,  and,  lavish  of  her  sweets, 
her  beauties,  her  melodies,  has,  in  the  joy  of  her  perennial 
youth,  shared  them  freely  with  her  lovers.  But  Mignon  is 
not  one  of  these. 

Sir  Tristram  and  Lady  Bergholt  have  arrived  in  town. 
Mignon  is  in  a  state  of  mind  that  halts  between  rapture  and 
terror :  she  is  to  be  presented  next  week.  Rapture,  because 
she  is  to  be  presented  by  a  duchess,  because  the  great  man-mil- 
liner, having  himself  seen  her  and  observed  her  beauty  in  Paris, 
has  confectioned  her  the  loveliest  presentation-toilette  that  even 
his  artistic  mind  is  capable  of:  it  is  of  the  sheeniest  satin,  the  most 
ethereal  tulle,  the  most  graceful,  pure  white  ostrich-feathers, 
and  so  exquisitely  draped  and  arranged  one  might  imagine 
that  the  mantle  of  a  Greek  sculptor  had  fallen  on  the  shoulders 
of  Mr.  Z.  Sir  Tristram  has  given  her  a  parure  of  diamonds,  for 
which  Mignon  has  kissed  him  voluntarily  the  first  time  in  her 
life.  He  feels  himself  amply  repaid.  So  much  for  my  lady's 
rapture.  Now  for  her  terror.  She  is  entirely  ignorant  how 
to  acquit  herself  in  the  presence  of  royalty.  It  is  very  easy 
for  her  husband  to  say,  "  But,  my  love,  it  is  the  simplest  thing 
in  the  world.  You  give  your  card  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain, 
and  then  you  curtsy  and  kiss  her  Majesty's  hand,  curtsy  to 
the  princesses,  and  get  out  of  the  way  as  soon  as  you  can." 
Mignon  would  like  to  call  in  the  assistance  of  Miss  Leonora 
Greary  j  but  her  husband  laughs  at  her.  "  Wait  till  Kitty 


156  MIQNON. 

comes,"  he  says :  "  if  I  have  not  told  you  enough,  she  will  be 
able  to  give  you  every  reuse  ignement" 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asks  Mignon. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  niy  dear.  That  is  a  French  word, 
rather  expressive,  I  think,  meaning  information,  particular. 
By  the  way,  I  wish  you  spoke  French  like  Kitty :  it  is  so  de- 
sirable for  a  woman  who  goes  much  into  society.  You  know, 
darling,  it  is  not  too  late  yet." 

Mignon  "tiptilts"  her  nose  (charming  euphemism,  into 
which  the  poet-laureate  has  transmuted  a  vulgar  idiom).  She 
has  a  rooted  opinion  that  knowledge  detracts  from  beauty,  and 
has  no  ambition  to  put  any  more  learning  into  her  lovely  head 
than  is  at  present  there. 

Kitty  conies  to  the  rescue.  She  arrives  in  town  three  days 
after  Mignon,  who  feels  a  little  jealous  because  her  friend  has 
a  town  house  of  her  own.  The  meeting  is  most  affectionate. 
Lady  Clover  has  come  to  lunch  in  Eaton  Square,  and  need  I 
say  that  immediately  afterwards  there  is  a  display  of  the  im- 
portation from  Paris  ? 

"  I  expect  to  die  of  spleen  when  I  see  your  court  dress,"  says 
Kitty.  "  I  saw  that  wretch  Z.  took  an  especial  interest  in 
you.  I  was  consigned  to  his  ladies-in-waiting  without  a  look. 
Still,  my  dress  is  very  pretty ;  though  I  dare  say  I  shall  despise 
it  when  I  have  seen  yours." 

When  it  is  unfolded,  she  looks  at  it  with  clasped  hands,  and 
such  an  expression  in  her  eyes  as  a  sculptor  might  wear  look- 
ing for  the  first  time  upon  the  statue  of  which  Byron  wrote : 

"  All  that  ideal  beauty  ever  blessed 

The  mind  with  in  its  most  unearthly  mood, 
When  each  conception  was  a  heavenly  guest, — 
A  ray  of  immortality." 

Certes  Mrs.  Kitty  never  stood  with  bated  breath  and  rapt 
eyes  over  the  Apollo  Belvedere  as  she  is  standing  now. 

"  What  a  shame !"  she  uttets,  at  last,  "  when  you  are  so 
lovely  already !" 

No  man  could  have  paid  Mignon  such  a  compliment.  The 
"  realized  dream"  of  Mr.  Z.  having  been  put  away,  and  the 
friends  left  alone,  Mignon  enters  eagerly  upon  the  subject  of 
her  presentation. 

"  Oh,  Kitty,  do  please  tell  me  exactly  what  to  do.  Sir  Tris- 
tram has  only  given  me  the  vaguest  idea." 


M1ONON.  157 

"  Well,  my  dear,  first  and  foremost,  you  are  not  to  rub  your 
nose  on  her  Majesty's  hand." 

"  As  if  I  should  !"  utters  Mignon,  aggrieved. 

"  You  will  be  very  clever  if  you  don't,  without  a  great  deal 
of  practice.  It  sounds  delightfully  easy  to  kiss  any  one's 
hand  ;  but  just  try  it  under  the  attendant  circumstances.  Put 
your  arm  out  nearly  a  yard  in  front  of  your  body,  curtsy  as 
low  as  you  do  in  the  Lancers,  and  kiss  the  Queen's  hand  at 
the  same  time, — this  with  four  yards'  length  of  satin  trailing 
behind  you,  a  bouquet,  a  handkerchief,  and  a  glove  (be  sure 
you  don't  forget  to  take  your  glove  off)  in  the  other  hand,  and 
the  most  awful  feeling  of  nervousness  you  ever  experienced  in 
your  life, — and  if  you  acquit  yourself  to  your  own  satisfaction 
without  a  great  deal  of  practice,  you  will  be  more  than  mor- 
tal. When  I  think  what  her  Majesty  must  suifer  from  the 
untrained  osculations  of  Mesdames  Jones,  Brown,  and  llobin- 
son !"  And  wicked  Kitty  laughs  a  ringing  peal.  "Come 
now,  begin !  I  will  be  the  Queen."  And  Lady  Clover  takes 
up  a  position  majestically  at  the  top  of  the  room.  Mignon 
goes  energetically  through  her  drill.  Sir  Tristram,  hearing 
the  sound  of  his  wife's  musical  laughter,  comes  in  and  finds 
the  lesson  proceeding. 

The  day  arrives.  The  two  brides  are  to  meet  at  the  Palace, 
for  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  they  are  going  to  crush  their 
lovely  dresses  by  sitting  in  one  carriage.  Besides,  each  wishes 
to  display  her  handsome  carriage  and  liveries.  If  they  have 
sold  themselves,  they  wish  the  world  to  know  that  they  have 
fetched  a  good  price. 

Mignon  looks — lovely  ?  0  poor  hackneyed  word,  that  has 
to  do  duty  for  the  fairest  fair,  and  for  many  ordinary  things 
besides,  let  me  hasten  to  find  adverbs  wherewith  to  enrich  you. 
Supremely,  exquisitely,  transcendently  lovely.  Yet  I  am  not 
satisfied. 

Her  whole  family  have  come  to  see  her  dressed.  Mignon 
thought  it  would  be  rather  a  bore ;  but  Sir  Tristram  made  a 
point  of  inviting  them.  Even  they,  in  whose  sight  she  has 
lived  all  her  life,  marvel  at  her.  Sir  Tristram  feels  the  proud- 
est man  in  England  as  he  squeezes  himself  into  an  infinitesi- 
mal space  in  the  carriage,  not  to  endanger  the  clouds  that  sur- 
round his  divinity.  It  is  only  one  o'clock  when  they  take 
their  place  in  the  rank ;  but  it  is  a  lovely  day,  and  neither 

14 


158  MIGNON. 

the  occupants  of  the  carriages  nor  the  horses  are  likely  to  take 
cold.  The  sun  shines  upon  Mignon  and  her  diamonds,  but 
even  a  May  sun  at  noonday  can  find  no  flaw  or  speck  in  that 
perfect  skin. 

"  Nothing  frayed 

The  sun's  large  kiss  on  the  luxurious  hair. 
Her  beauty  was  new  color  to  the  air, 
And  music  to  the  silent  many  birds. 
Love  was  an-hungered  for  some  perfect  words 
To  praise  her  with." 

The  British  public  is  long-suffering,  but  it  is  not  well  bred. 
It  thinks  no  shame  to  stare  and  gape  round  the  carriage  of  a 
beautiful  woman  or  a  celebrity,  to  make  its  remarks  in  a  dis- 
tinctly audible  voice,  nay,  even  to  point  with  its  finger.  "  Oh, 
my  !  Polly,  look  'ere  !  'Ere's  a  lovely  young  lady  !  Well,  I 
never !  she  beats  the  lot !  Look  at  her  dimins  !  I  suppose 
the  gent's  her  pa." 

It  is  not  on  account  of  the  last  remark  that  Sir  Tristram 
asks  Mignon  whether  she  will  like  the  blinds  down,  for  there 
is  a  regular  mob  round  the  carriage  ;  but  Lady  Bergholt  de- 
clines, probably  on  the  principle  that  "  it  pleases  them  and 
doesn't  hurt  her." 

Kitty  is  awaiting  her  friend  impatiently  in  the  uncloaking- 
room.  She,  too,  looks  charming ;  but  beside  Mignon  she  is 
only  like  a  star  to  the  moon. 

"  Come,  my  dear,  we  shall  be  frightfully  late !"  she  cries, 
impatiently ;  and  Mignon  follows  her,  looking  like  a  beautiful 
swan  in  the  water,  not  "  on  a  turnpike  road."  She  is  fairly 
dazzled.  The  uniforms,  the  beef-eaters,  the  gentlemen-at- 
arms,  the  diamonded  dowagers,  present  to  her  unaccustomed  eyes 
so  gorgeous  a  kaleidoscope  that  her  brain  is  in  a  whirl :  she 
hardly  hears  the  gay  nonsense  Lady  Clover  is  whispering  to 
her. 

"  Look  at  poor  Jo  !  did  you  ever  see  such  a  figure  ?  Poor 
dear !  he  has  not  had  his  uniform  on  lately,  and  has  got  fat  in 
the  mean  time.  There  was  not  time  to  have  it  let  out,  and  it 
took  two  men  to  button  it.  I  expect  to  hear  it  burst  with  a 
loud  report  every  moment :  he  is  nearly  black  in  the  face  now. 
I  have  offended  his  mother  for  life.  She  expected  to  present 
me,  though  she  has  not  been  to  Court  for  years,  and  was 
going  to  make  an  effort  on  my  account.  I  don't  want  to  be 


MIGNON.  159 

unkind,  but  really  Jo  and  his  mother  together  would  have  been 
too  much.  Picture  to  yourself,  iny  dear,  a  mother-in-law  in 
brown  moire  and  cork-screw  ringlets,  and  collar-bones  that  remind 
you  of  a  shoulder  of  mutton  after  a  large  family  has  dined  off 
it.  Jo  was  rather  hurt,  but  he  is  so  sensible.  I  said  to  him, 
'  Don't  you  think,  dear,  after  calm  and  dispassionate  reflection, 
that  it  is  quite  sufficient  trial  for  me  to  go  with  you  in  the  uni- 
form of  a  colonel  of  volunteers,  without  the  maternal  moire 
and  ringlets  and  collar-bones?'  He  saw  it  at  once.  There" 
(nodding  and  smiling  to  some  one  in  the  distance),  "  there  is 
Lady  De  Vyne,  who  presents  me :  is  she  not  magnificent-look- 
ing ?  There  is  Raymond,  too,  in  attendance  upon  his  mother. 
How  handsome  he  looks  in  his  yeomanry  dress !  she  makes  a 
point  of  coming  once  in  three  years,  and  it  always  knocks  her 
up  for  a  month." 

"Who  is  that  elegant  woman  so  exquisitely  dressed?"  asks 
Lady  Bergholt,  as  Kitty  kisses  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  a  lady 
in  the  distance. 

"  That  is  Mrs.  Stratheden.  No  matter  where  she  goes,  she 
is  nearly  always  the  most  distinguee  and  the  best-dressed 
woman  in  the  room." 

Mignon  feels  a  shade  disappointed.  She  has  taken  a  sort 
of  dislike  to  Olga  without  knowing  her,  and  feels  a  desire  to 
depreciate  her :  it  is  the  impossibility  of  doing  this  that  cha- 
grins her. 

But  she  soon  recovers  her  equanimity.  All  eyes  within 
range  are  turned  upon  her ;  people  are  asking  who  she  is ; 
there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  amidst  that  brilliant  throng 
she  is  the  undisputed  belle.  Raymond  is  dying  to  get  to  her ; 
but  there  is  a  wall  of  tulle,  satin,  brocade,  and  diamonds  be- 
tween them.  His  handsome  face  wears  a  decided  frown,  and 
he  is  inclined  to  be  pettish  with  his  poor  mother. 

"  It  is  going  to  be  a  frightful  crush,"  whispers  Kitty,  look- 
ing over  her  shoulder  and  seeing  the  gentleman-at-anns  at  the 
last  barrier  courteously  but  firmly  refusing  admission  to  a  bevy 
of  fair  onfig  intent  upon  getting  into  the  already  crowded  rooms. 
"  The  room  before  the  throne-room  will  be  a  bear-garden.  I 
tremble  for  our  dresses !"  And,  when  she  gets  there,  Mignon 
finds,  to  her  cost,  that  a  titled  and  well-born  crowd,  arrayed  in 
purple  and  fine  linen,  can  push  as  hard  and  get  as  hot  as  a 
crowd  consisting  of  more  vulgar  elements,  and  not  keep  their 


160  MIGNON. 

tempers  half  so  well,  either.  Meantime,  during  the  long  hours 
of  waiting,  she  amuses  herself  by  looking  about  her,  at  the 
pictures,  the  brocade  hangings,  out  into  the  garden ;  but  she 
is  getting  impatient  and  pale  with  nervousness.  Three  o'clock 
strikes ;  the  Queen,  with  the  punctuality  that  is  the  courtesy 
of  royalty,  has  taken  up  her  position ;  there  is  a  short  hush 
of  excited  expectancy  whilst  the  privileged  few  who  have  the 
entree  are  sailing  leisurely  into  the  throne-room,  without  con- 
fusion or  crowding,  very  much  as  if  they  were  going  in  to  dinner. 
Now  the  ropes  are  withdrawn :  there  is  a  rush  forward,  and 
the  brilliant  stream,  like  pent-up  water  let  loose,  floods  through 
the  open  space,  and  Mignon  and  Kitty  are  swept  along  with  it. 
There  is  really  plenty  of  room  in  those  spacious  saloons,  if  the 
fair  throng  would  take  it  quietly ;  but  each  one  is  afraid  of 
missing  her  Majesty,  and  treads  eagerly  upon  the  satin  heels  in 
front.  Mignon  feels  her  exquisite  dress  that  was  like  a  puff  of 
thistle-down  an  hour  ago  squeezed  and  crushed  around  her, 
herself  jostled  with  scant  ceremony,  and  is  almost  ready  to  cry 
with  mortification. 

"  Now,"  says  Kitty,  as  they  reach  the  corridor  that  precedes 
the  throne-room,  "  follow  me,  and  do  as  I  do.  Don't  look  at 
yourself  in  the  glass  on  the  left,  because  the  men  will  be  look- 
ing at  you  from  the  other  side.  And  be  sure  you  don't  tread 
on  my  train." 

With  these  injunctions,  she  lets  down  her  train  for  the 
pages  to  arrange,  and  sweeps  on.  Calm,  self-possessed  Mignon 
shivers  like  an  aspen  as  the  Lord  Chamberlain  reads  her  name. 
She  is  conscious  of  an  encouraging  smile  from  a  gracious  lady, 
she  just  manages  to  kiss  the  royal  hand,  and  then,  oblivious 
of  curtsies  to  the  princesses,  and  of  the  injunction  not  to  turn 
her  back  upon  them,  she  turns  and  flies,  whilst  an  elderly  gen- 
tleman rushes  breathlessly  after  her  with  her  train.  She  is 
immediately  joined  by  Sir  Tristram,  who,  having  appeared  at 
the  levee  two  days  before,  has  only  come  in  attendance  upon 
his  lovely  wife.  Mignon  leans  upon  his  arm  with  a  delightful 
feeling  of  protection  quite  new  to  her ;  then  Raymond  comes 
up,  and  a  host  of  her  husband's  friends  are  asking  to  be  intro- 
duced to  her,  and  she  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  most 
delightful — when  it  is  all  over. 

Mrs.  Stratheden  approaches.  She  is  very  cordial,  without 
being  gushing.  She  thinks  Lady  Bergholt  almost  the  love- 


MIGNON.  161 

liest  creature  she  has  ever  seen ;  and  there  is  no  one  more 
heartily  appreciative  of  beauty  in  her  own  sex  than  Olga. 

"  I  want  you  and  Sir  Tristram  to  dine  with  me  unceremo- 
niously to-morrow,"  she  says  to  Mignon,  "  if  you  are  disen- 
gaged. Lady  Clover  and  her  husband  and  Raymond  and  Mrs. 
L'Estrange  have  promised  to  come.  We  shall  be  quite  a 
Blankshire  party." 

Mignon,  without  even  consulting  Sir  Tristram  by  a  glance, 
answers  that  they  are  happy  to  accept,  but  in  a  tone  so  glacial 
that  Mrs.  Stratheden  is  chilled,  and  Sir  Tristram  feels  both 
surprised  and  annoyed.  Lady  Bergholt  turns  to  speak  to 
Raymond,  in  a  manner  that  seems  to  intimate,  "  The  audience 
is  at  an  end,"  and  Olga  is  soon  the  centre  of  a  more  appreci- 
ative crowd. 

"  Is  she  not  lovely  ?"  Raymond  asks,  with  enthusiasm,  of 
Mrs.  Stratheden,  a  little  later  j  and  Olga  replies, — 

"  Most  lovely." 

"But?"  says  Raymond.  "I  thought  your  tone  implied  a 
but." 

"On  the  contrary,"  answers  Olga.  "  There  can  be  no  but 
in  the  matter.  She  is  almost,  if  not  quite,  the  most  lovely 
creature  I  ever  saw." 

"Mignon,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  as  they  are  rolling  swiftly 
homewards,  "  I  am  sure  you  did  not  intend  it,  but  your  man- 
ner to  Mrs.  Stratheden  was  not  very  gracious." 

"Really?"  utters  Mignon,  coldly. 

"  She  is  one  of  the  greatest  friends  T  have,"  pursues  Sir 
Tristram, — "  the  last  person  in  the  world  I  should  wish  you 
to  be  cool  to." 

Lady  Bergholt  does  not  reply.  Already  even,  and  despite 
her  own  transcendent  beauty,  she  is  jealous  of  Olga. 


14* 


162  MIGNON. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  Let  no  flower  of  the  spring  pass  by  us.  Let  us  crown  ourselves 
with  rosebuds  before  they  be  withered." 

Wisdom  of  Solomon. 

THE  gates  have  swung  open  for  Mignon,  and  she  has  en- 
tered the  land  of  enchantment.  This  time  last  year  she  was 
a  little  rustic  in  a  cotton  gown  and  a  straw  hat,  lying  on  the 
daisied  grass  under  a  big  tree,  and  ambitioning  nothing  more 
than  the  undivided  possession  of  her  neighbor's  strawberries, 
and  now  she  is  a  queen  of  society,  one  of  the  most  beautiful, 
most  admired  women  in  London.  She  plunges  eagerly  into 
the  vortex :  the  whirl  of  it  leaves  her  not  a  moment  to  think : 
it  is  all  novelty,  excitement,  triumph.  In  the  morning,  if  she 
is  not  engaged  with  dressmakers  and  milliners,  she  sits  in  the 
Row ;  thence  she  goes  to  a  luncheon-party  or  has  friends  at 
home,  thence  shopping  or  to  a  reception  or  concert,  then  for 
a  turn  in  the  Park,  then  home  to  dress  for  a  dinner-party 
or  the  Opera,  then  to  one  or  more  balls,  then  home,  tired 
out,  to  sleep  soundly  until  ten  o'clock  next  morning.  Sir 
Tristram  has  a  large  acquaintance  ;  he  has  always  been  popular ; 
and  now,  having  a  lovely  wife  who  is  very  much  the  fashion, 
invitations  pour  in  upon  them  thick  and  fast.  Mignon  has 
hardly  time  to  exchange  a  word  with  her  husband, — a  circum- 
stance that  in  no  wise  afflicts  her.  She  has  even  left  off  asking 
him  if  she  may  have  this  or  that  thing  she  fancies,  but  gives 
herself  carte  blanche  for  her  most  extravagant  whims.  Al- 
though he  goes  with  her  to  every  entertainment,  she  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  of  other  men,  and  if  alone  with  him  for 
a  moment  she  takes  the  opportunity  to  shut  her  lips  and  eyes, 
to  recruit  herself  from  the  incessant  strain  upon  them. 

She  no  longer  regrets  the  box  at  the  Opera;  she  only  cares 
to  go  on  Saturday  nights,  and  then  the  music  bores  her, 
though  it  is  pleasant  to  sit  in  front  of  the  box  and  have  three- 
fourths  of  the  glasses  in  the  house  directed  at  her,  and  to  be 
visited  between  the  acts  by  her  most  fashionable  men  friends. 
Sir  Tristram  is  merged  into  Lady  Bergholt's  husband :  he  is 


MIGNON.  163 

the  proprietor  of  a  lovely  woman,  and  is  therefore  supposed  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  fact,  and  expected  to  make  way  for  every 
other  man  who  wants  to  talk  to  or  make  love  to  her.  My  lady 
accepts  all  the  adulation  offered  her  as  a  tribute  due  to  her 
charms.  If  a  man  becomes,  or  pretends  to  become,  serious, 
she  laughs  in  his  face  with  bewitching  impertinence,  and  as 
likely  as  not  makes  open  fun  of  him  to  his  friends, — any  ex- 
position of  the  tender  passion  being  to  her  only  matter  for 
ridicule.  She  likes  to  be  adored,  she  prefers  a  baronet  to  a 
commoner,  and  a  lord  to  a  baronet,  but  as  to  devoting  herself 
particularly  to  one  man,  to  the  prejudice  and  alienation  of 
others,  such  a  thing  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Mignon's  de- 
light is  to  have  a  crowd  round  her,  each  vying  with  the  other 
for  her  smiles,  whilst  other  women  look  on,  half  enviously, 
half  admiringly.  Men  who  boast  that  they  "  never  waste 
their  time"  are  fain  to  detach  themselves  from  her  train.  But 
not  to  run  after  a  woman  who  is  the  rage,  is  a  sacrifice  of 
vanity  that  these  sheep  of  fashion,  with  whom  it  is  a  tradition 
to  follow  their  leader,  are  incapable  of. 

Raymond,  who  had  dreamed  dreams  and  seen  visions  of 
a  romantic  passion,  terminating  in  "  the  world  well  lost"  for 
one,  if  not  both,  is  goaded  into  madness  by  Mignon's  treat- 
ment of  him.  It  is  almost  a  death-blow  to  his  vanity  to  know 
that  he  has  only  been  a  pis-atter,  to  find  himself  treated  with 
utter  indifference,  to  have  his  smiles,  his  frowns,  his  sulks,  the 
absences  with  which  he  punishes  himself  in  the  hope  of  pun- 
ishing her,  apparently  unnoticed  by  the  object  of  his  passion. 
If  he  is  sentimentally  inclined,  Lady  Bergholt  laughs  him  to 
scorn, — perhaps  holds  him  up  to  public  ridicule;  if  he  is 
moody  and  cross,  she  yawns  and  tells  him  openly  that  he  is 
an  insufferable  nuisance.  A  thousand  times  a  week  he  re- 
solves never  to  see  or  speak  to  her  again,  but  finds  himself 
totally  unable  to  keep  his  vow.  If  ever  there  was  a  woman  fitted 
to  revenge  the  wrongs  of  her  sex  on  the  other,  it  is  Mignon. 
She  makes  many  friends  among  women,  from  the  remorseless 
snubs  she  gives  to  men :  "  they  can't  really  like  her,  when 
she  says  such  atrocious  things  to  them,"  her  fair  friends 
think. 

It  is  a  June  morning.  Lady  Bergholt  is  tired  of  sitting 
in  state  in  her  carriage :  there  is  not  a  particle  of  shade  from 
the  ardent  rays  of  the  sun,  and — my  lady  rather  wishes  to 


164  MIQNON. 

exhibit  a  very  ethereal  toilette  of  gaze  de  Chambfoy  and  Va- 
lenciennes that  only  arrived  from  Paris  last  night.  Kitty, 
looking  lovely  on  a  spirited  little  bay,  has  gone  down  the  Row, 
and  Mrs.  Stratheden,  perfectly  turned  out  as  usual,  and  as 
pale  and  cool  as  if  there  was  no  blazing  sun  overhead,  has 
stopped  a  moment  in  passing. 

"  I  wish  I  rode  !  it's  a  great  shame  I  haven't  a  horse,"  says 
Mignon  to  her  husband;  with  a  pout. 

"  As  soon  as  you  can  ride,  my  darling,  you  shall  have  one," 
he  replies ;  ubut  you  would  not  like  to  practise  here,  and  y3u 
are  not  up  early  enough  in  the  morning  to  ride  before  the 
crowd  conies.  When  we  get  to  Bergholt  you  shall  begin  ;  but 
people  don't  ride  like  Kitty  and  Olga  in  a  day." 

"  Olga !"  repeats  Mignon,  "  tiptilting"  her  nose  in  a  way 
not  unusual  to  her :  "  you  seem  to  be  on  very  familiar  terms 
with  her."  Like  many  women  who  allow  themselves  very 
great  latitude  with  men,  Lady  Bergholt  resents  the  slightest 
familiarity  between  her  husband  and  a  woman. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  knew  her  when  she  was  in  short  frocks." 

"  That  must  have  been  some  time  ago,"  sneers  Mignon, 
longing  to  disparage,  but  finding  it  difficult.  "  Olga !  such 
an  outlandish  name,  too  !" 

Sir  Tristram  smiles  mischievously. 

" '  People  who  live  in  glass  houses,'  you  know,"  he  says. 
"  Of  the  two  I  am  afraid  your  name  would  carry  off  the  palm 
for  outlandishness." 

Mignon  reddens  at  having  fallen  into  her  own  pit. 

"  Every  one  else  has  ponies,"  she  remarks,  discontentedly. 

"  Well,  you  shall  learn  to  drive  too  at  Bergholt,"  says  her 
doting  husband,  indulging  himself  with  a  lover-like  thought 
of  the  pleasure  it  will  give  him  to  teach  her.  "  But  on  a  hot 
morning  to  hold  pulling  horses  and  sit  in  a  broiling  sun  is  not, 
you  would  find,  the  most  agreeable  pastime  in  the  world, 
charming  as  the  combined  effect  of  thoroughbred  steppers  and 
a  lovely  charioteer  may  be." 

"  It  is  broiling  enough  sitting  here,"  says  Mignon,  whose 
serenity  is  evidently  somewhat  ruffled  this  morning,  I  imagine 
because  Lord  Threestars  has  passed  without  stopping  to  speak 
to  her.  "  Let  us  get  out  and  sit  under  a  tree." 

So  they  descend  from  the  barouche,  and  my  lady  sweeps  her 
gauze  and  laces  down  the  dusty  path.  She  attracts  great 


MIGNON.  165 

attention,  and  would  still  more,  only,  unfortunately,  she  hap- 
pens to  be  walking  behind  an  actress  more  noted  for  her  toil- 
ettes and  jewels  than  for  her  dramatic  talent. 

It  is  not  long  before  Lord  Threestars  joins  them. 

"  Simply  perfect!  Z.'s  last?"  he  whispers,  knowing  that  a 
compliment  to  her  dress  is,  if  anything,  more  esteemed  by  a 
woman  than  one  to  herself.  "  By  the  way,  are  you  going  to 
the  Queen's  ball  to-night  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  answers  Mignon,  with  not  very  well  feigned 
nonchalance ;  and  Sir  Tristram  winces.  He  knows  what  a 
man  like  Lord  Threestars  is  likely  to  think  of  her  affectations 
of  grande  dame, — affectations  which,  being  evolved  from  the 
inner  consciousness  of  one  not  born  to  the  purple,  must  of 
necessity  be  unlike  what  they  would  simulate. 

"I  shall  not  ask  you  to  dance,"  pursues  Lord  Threestars. 
"  Dancing  there  is  next  to  impossible,  and  would  only  crush 
your  beautiful  dress — of  course  you  will  be  beautifully  dressed, 
as  you  always  are ;  but,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  do  cicerone, 
and  show  you  everybody  and  everything." 

Mignon  graciously  accepts,  though  she  is  a  little  disappointed 
at  the  prospect  of  not  dancing.  This  ball  has  been  her  fondest 
aspiration  :  ever  since  she  received  the  card  with  the  magic 
words,  "  The  Lord  Chamberlain  is  commanded  by  the  Queen 
to  invite  Sir  Tristram  and  Lady  Bergholt,"  etc.,  etc.,  she  has  been 
in  a  state  of  intense  mental  excitement,  which  she  has  carefully 
endeavored  to  suppress.  To  show  exultation  or  mortification 
in  the  leau  monde  is  to  show  a  lack  of  breeding :  thus  much 
Mignon  has  learned :  feign  joy  or  feign  sorrow  if  thou  wilt, 
but  never  let  the  real  feelings  of  thy  heart  be  known,  lest  thy 
friends  triumph  over  or  make  a  mock  at  thee. 

The  longed-for  time  arrives.  Mignon's  heart  beats,  the 
hand  that  rests  on  her  husband's  arm  trembles  with  excite- 
ment, as  they  thread  their  way  along  the  crowded  corridor  to 
the  ball-room.  It  is  a  dazzling  sight  for  a  novice,  the  blaze 
of  diamonds,  the  rich  and  varied  uniforms,  the  distinguished- 
looking  men,  the  well-born,  well-dressed  women.  There  are 
exceptions  ;  but  I  can  think  of  no  other  time  and  place  where 
so  much  of  birth,  good  looks,  and  distinction  are  congregated 
together. 

Lord  Threestars  meets  them  at  the  door,  and  Mignon  trans- 
fers her  hand  to  his  arm. 


166  MIGNON. 

"  How  late  you  are !"  he  whispers.  "  I  thought  you  were 
never  coming." 

They  struggle  through  the  crowd  with  none  the  less  diffi- 
culty because  of  the  aristocratic  elements  which  compose  it, 
and  make  for  the  upper  end  of  the  room. 

"  Extraordinary,"  says  Lord  Threestars,  "  that,  not  wanting 
to  dance,  and  with  half  a  dozen  other  charming  rooms  to  sit 
in,  every  one  will  crush  in  here." 

From  the  elevated  position  to  which  he  conducts  her,  Mig- 
non  has  the  pleasure  of  making  a  minute  and  searching  in- 
spection of  the  royal  party  with  the  most  gracious  and  charm- 
ing princess  in  the  world  in  their  midst,  she  has  an  undisturbed 
view  of  the  Scotch  reel  performed  in  front  of  the  dais  after 
supper,  and,  later  on,  she  watches  with  immense  interest  the 
princess  dancing  like  an  ordinary  mortal  and  evidently  enjoy- 
ing it  too. 

"  Now,"  says  Lord  Threestars,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  I 
have  kept  my  promise  and  shown  you  everything ;  now  give 
me  my  reward  and  let  us  go  and  sit  down  quietly  for  a  little 
while." 

Mignon  complies,  and  they  wend  their  way  to  one  of  the 
handsome,  deserted  rooms, — deserted  save  for  a  stray  couple 
flirting  here  and  there  in  a  corner.  But  she  prefers  being  be- 
fore the  public,  and  likes  much  better  to  be  seen  leaning  on  Lord 
Threestars'  arm  among  the  crowd  than  to  be  sitting  tete-a-tete 
with  him  in  a  comparatively  empty  room.  Still,  she  wishes  to 
make  herself  agreeable,  and  wreathes  her  face  into  smiles  as  he 
does  his  best  to  entertain  her  with  the  small  talk  of  the  day. 

Mignon,  though  she  objects  to  the  trouble  of  taking  French 
and  singing  lessons,  is  an  apt  scholar,  and  has  picked  up  the 
jargon  of  society  without  effort.  She  is  able  to  talk  of  "  high 
life  and  high-lived  company,  with  other  fashionable  topics, 
such  as  pictures,  taste,  Shakspeare,  and  the  musical  glasses." 
The  three  first-named  have  probably  never  gone  out  of  vogue 
since  that  oft-quoted  sentence  was  written :  pictures,  whether 
the  public  are  in  raptures  over  Gainsborough,  Reynolds,  Sir 
Edwin,  or  Millais,  old  masters  or  promising  young  ones ;  taste, 
through  its  changes  from  powder  and  hoops  to  coal-scuttles 
and  the  scantiest  garments  allowed  by  a  very  liberal-minded 
decency,  back  again  to  hoops  without  powder  and  clinging 
garments  unaccompanied  by  coal-scuttles ;  Shakspeare,  whether 


MIGNON.  167 

expounded  by  Kemble,  Kean,  Fechter,  Salvini,  Hossi,  or  Ir- 
ving. The  musical  glasses  have  had  many  substitutes,  too  nu- 
merous to  attempt  to  chronicle  :  in  the  year  of  Mignon's  debut 
polo  did  duty  for  them,  since  then  it  has  been  skating-rink*, 
and  last  year  it  took  the  novel  form  of  a  coffin-show.  Curious 
study  for  the  philosopher  !  a  duke  opens  his  grounds  for  the 
display  of  be-ribboned,  be-flowered  wicker  baskets,  and,  lo ! 
the  fashionable  and  the  curious,  who  hate  the  name  and  thought 
of  death,  who  shudder  with  terror  and  loathing  when  brought 
even  into  momentary  contact  with  it,  snatch  a  moment  from 
their  frivolous  pursuits  to  stare  and  chatter  and  jest  over  the 
strange  show.  I  wonder  if  any  of  them  saw,  instead  of  the 
wreaths  and  ribbons,  the  fair  faces  and  the  smiles,  a'corrup- 
tion  so  horrible  as  to  sicken  the  strongest  man,  and  the  loath- 
some worms  gliding  in  and  out  between  the  wicker-work  ? 
That  is  what  I  should  have  seen  ;  and  so  I  stayed  away.  If 
Juvenal  had  lived  in  the  present  day,  he  might,  along  with 
many  of  the  vices  he  lashed  in  his  own  time,  have  had  some- 
thing to  say  about  skating  in  the  dog-days  and  flocking  to  a 
coffin-show.  Baby-shows,  barmaid-shows,  seem  a  trifle  ex- 
travagant in  idea,  but  what  are  they  to  a  coffin-show? 

Erom  a  queen's  ball  to  a  coffin,  what  a  hideous  digression  ! 
I  humbly  apologize  to  the  reader  for  having  carried  him  from 
a  pleasant  thought  to  a  ghastly  one,  and  with  all  speed  I  will 
hie  me  back. 

"  You  will  drive  down  to  Lillie  Bridge  on  Saturday,  won't 
you  ?"  Lord  Threcstars  is  entreating.  "  I  will  send  you  tickets.' ' 

"  Perhaps,"  answers  Mignon,  who  is  clever  enough  not  to 
make  her  favors  too  cheap. 

"  But  promise,  and  then  I  shall  feel  happy." 

"  Women's  promises  are  not  to  be  relied  on,  you  know," 
Mignon  answers,  with  a  saucy  laugh. 

"  Yours  are,  I  am  sure,"  murmurs  my  lord,  sentimentally. 
.,.  "I  am  very  hungry,"  remarks  Lady  Bergholt,  irreverently, 
"  and  you  have  not  asked  me  to  have  any  supper." 

"  Because  I  knew  there  would  not  be  a  chance  until  the 
dowagers  were  appeased.  Come  now"  (rising  and  giving  her 
his  arm). 

Lord  Threestars  is  slightly  fastidious:  that  so  lovely  a 
creature  as  Lady  Bergholt  should  not  be  superior  to  the  gross 
sensation  of  hunger  is  displeasing  to  him  ;  when  he  sees  that 


168  MIGNON. 

young  lady's  remarkably  healthy  appetite,  his  soul  is  troubled 
within  him. 

l<  I  shall  not  dine  with  the  Bergholts  if  they  ask  me,"  he 
reflects  to  himself;  "  and  I  only  trust  I  shall  not  sit  next 
her  at  dinner  anywhere.  So  lovely,  and  yet  so  hungry !" 
(sighing).  "  If  I  were  her  husband  I  should  make  her  eat 
in  private,  and  play  with  a  few  grains  of  rice  or  something  in 
public,  like  the  young  woman  in  the  Arabian  Nights." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Passion  I  found,  and  love,  and  godlike  pain, 

The  swift  soul  rapt  by  mingled  hopes  and  fears, 
Eyes  lit  with  glorious  light  from  the  Unseen, 
Or  dim  with  sacred  tears." 

Songs  of  Two  Worlds. 

WHEN  Leo  drove  away  from  The  Manor  House,  he  felt  as 
though  he  had  left  the  best  part  of  his  life  behind  him.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  the  presence  of  one  particular  human 
being  had  been  utterly,  absolutely  indispensable  to  his  happi- 
ness. He  had  often  felt  a  keen  regret  at  parting  from  his 
father,  especially  in  the  old  school-days,  but  this  agonizing 
blank  was  a  new  experience.  The  pain  was  all  the  keener  for 
its  novelty.  Men  who  have  many  loves  leave  them  lightly  and 
easily  replace  them ;  but  it  could  not  be  so  with  an  ardent 
chivalrous-minded  boy  like  Leo,  to  whom  the  woman  he  loved 
was  a  divinity.  Up  to  the  present  time,  women  had  played 
but  a  small  part  in  his  life :  he  had  been  thrown  little  in  their 
way,  and  sport  had  seemed  to  him  the  great  object  of  existence. 
But  from  his  boyish  days,  when  he  had  dreamed  of  knights 
and  heroes,  and  sighed  after  the  olden  time  when  the  finest 
role  of  a  gallant  gentleman  was  to  fight  and  die  in  the  cause 
of  womanhood,  he  had  always  had  high  and  chivalrous  thoughts 
of  them. 

He  had  longed,  like  many  another  high-spirited  lad,  to  be 
one  of  King  Arthur's  knights,  to  ride  forth  to  the  succor  of 


MIGNOtf.  169 

distressed  damsels,  to  wear  his  lady's  glove  in  his  helmet,  to 
die  with  her  name  engraven  on  his  heart.  Later,  when  these 
boyish  fancies  were  crowded  out  by  the  modern  phase  of  prow- 
ess called  sport,  his  thoughts  of  women  were  still  tinged  by 
the  chivalrous  poetic  old  fancies.  His  ideal  was  rather  an  im- 
possibly angelic  being,  but  it  was  a  very  good  ideal  for  a  young 
man  to  have.  In  this  respect  he  differed  happily  from  many 
of  the  rising  youth  of  this  generation,  who,  ere  their  beards 
be  grown,  have  learned  to  think  and  speak  more  than  lightly 
of  the  sex  their  mother  should  have  made  sacred  to  them. 
O  women  of  the  day,  you  who  cannot  help  but  see  this  glaring 
evil  creeping  on,  in  the  flippant  disrespect,  the  want  of  rever- 
ence which  boys,  scarce  grown  to  manhood,  show  for  you,  who 
cannot  help  but  see,  and  yet,  far  from  checking,  tolerate,  nay, 
rather  laugh  at  it,  have  you  not  much  to  answer  for  ?  Is  it 
better,  think  you,  that  instead  of  having  chivalrous  thoughts 
of  you,  instead  of  looking  up  to  you  and  believing  with  honest 
reverence  in  your  purity  and  worth,  they  should  hold  you 
cheaply  and  utter  your  name  with  significant  smiles  or  may-be 
a  coarse,  jest?  When  men  talked  flippantly  about  the  sex  in 
Leo's  presence, — when  they  amused  themselves  by  sneering  at 
virtue,  worse,  by  denying  its  existence, — when  he  heard  them 
class  all  women  together  without  distinction, — the  honest  flush 
would  rise  to  his  brow,  and  sometimes  the  honest  anger  to  his 
lips,  and — he  would  get  laughed  at.  But  in  his  present  frame 
of  mind,  imbued  with  new  reverence  by  his  love  for  Olga,  it 
would  have  been  dangerous  for  any  one  to  impugn  in  his  hear- 
ing the  sex  of  which  almost  every  member  was  dear  and  sacred 
for  her  sake. 

Raymond  found  his  friend  very  poor  company,  and  was  in- 
clined to  be  cross  and  cynical  with  him.  He  was  a  selfish  young 
gentleman,  as  I  have  said,  and  did  not  at  all  relish  being  the 
victim  of  another  person's  melancholy. 

"  Olga  has  been  at  her  old  games,  I  see,"  he  remarked,  with 
a  curve  of  the  lip,  when  his  mother  had  left  them  after  dinner 
on  the  first  evening  of  Leo's  return.  Raymond  was  jealous: 
he  did  not  like  Mrs.  Stratheden  to  make  such  a  fuss  with  Leo, 
and  rather  wanted  to  take  the  conceit  out  of  his  friend  in  case 
he  should  flatter  himself  too  much  on  the  score  of  Olga's 
kindness. 

A  quick  flush  suffused  Leo'*  face ;  he  had  been  rather  sub- 
H  15 


170  MIONON. 

ject  to  this  young-lady-like  affection  since  his  accident :  he 
was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  said,  with  considerable 
warmth, — 

"  Please  don't  speak  of  Mrs.  Stratheden  in  that  way :  she 
is  an  angel.  If  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world  spoke 
lightly  of  her,  he  would  not  be  my  friend  any  longer.  We 
have  always  been  good  friends,  Raymond :  I  should  be  awfully 
sorry  for  anything  to  interfere  with  our  friendship."  And 
the  lad  put  out  his  hand  across  the  table  with  a  frank,  kindly 
grace  that  was  irresistible.  But  there  was  an  unmistakable  de- 
termination in  the  tone  of  the  foregoing  words,  and  Raymond 
had  an  irritable  uneasy  feeling  of  having  been  "  sat  upon." 
The  sensation  was  as  disagreeable  as  it  was  novel.  But  he 
took  the  proffered  hand,  saying  at  the  same  time,  with  a  smile 
which  rather  disfigured  his  handsome  mouth, — 

"  Of  course  I  won't  say  a  word  against  your  divinity.  Will 
it  cost  me  your  friendship  if  I  remark  that,  in  my  opinion,  no 
woman  is  worth  men's  quarrelling  about?" 

From  this  time  Mrs.  Stratheden  was  not  mentioned  between 
them.  It  was  a  dreadful  punishment  to  poor  Leo,  who  would 
have  dearly  liked  to  give  vent  now  and  then  to  his  passionate 
enthusiasm  and  admiration  for  her.  Raymond  had  an  intu- 
ition of  this,  and  was  not  ill  pleased  at  being  able  to  punish 
his  friend  for  having  made  him  feel  small. 

A  few  days  later  they  started  for  Scotland,  where  they  were 
joined  by  two  other  men,  one  of  whom  had  taken  the  shoot- 
ing with  Raymond. 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  a  chance  of  my  being  able  to  shoot," 
Leo  had  said,  before  starting.  "  You  had  better  get  some 
other  fellow  to  take  my  place." 

"  You  can  but  try.  If  you  can't  manage  it,  I  will  send  for 
Tracy.  At  all  events,  you  can  potter  about  and  fish." 

So  it  was  settled.  But  Leo  very  soon  found  that  the  walk- 
ing was  out  of  the  question,  let  alone  the  shooting.  So  when 
the  others  took  their  guns  and  started  off  in  the  dog-cart  ho 
would  wander  away  to  the  stream  with  his  rod  and  a  book  and 
Olga's  picture  next  his  heart.  It  was  a  new  sensation  for  him, 
this  enforced  idleness  and  solitude.  His  whole  being  was  per- 
vaded by  melancholy  ;  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  think,  and 
thinking  brought  him  scant  comfort.  Life,  that  was  so  glad 
a  thing  to  him,  had  become  almost  a  curse  ;  this  gnawing  want 


MIGNON.  171 

of  the  heart  seemed  more  unbearable  than  any  bodily  pain 
could  have  been.  Morning  after  morning  he  wandered  down 
to 'the  stream  through  groves  of  mountain-ash,  alders,  and 
chestnuts,  with  a  tangle  of  wild  raspberries  growing  on  either 
side  of  the  scarcely-defined  path.  Here  and  there  through  an 
opening  he  could  see  the  purple  moors,  and  the  green  meadows 
and  yellowing  cornfields  that  lay  between  him  and  them,  and 
he  would  sigh  and  wish  he  was  striding  over  the  heather  after 
grouse,  or  doing  something,  anything  that  would  take  him  out 
of  himself.  The  swift  clear  water  rushed  over  the  stones  with 
a  pleasant  sound,  but  it  seemed  to  Leo  only  to  intensify  the 
silence  and  stillness  of  everything  else  around. 

He  would  sit  down  on  a  rock  and  watch  the  bright  water 
sparkling  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  flies  swarming  over  it,  and 
once  and  again  a  little  silvery  trout  leaping.  He  was  laughed 
at  every  night  when  he  showed  the  result  of  his  day's  labor, 
a  couple  of  dozen  troutlets  no  bigger  than  sprats.  One  day 
he  rode  seven  miles  to  a  lake  in  the  hollow  of  the  hills.  It 
was  a  lovely  ride ;  purple  moors  on  either  side,  with  great 
tufts  -of  fern  and  bracken  and  the  modest  blue -bell  of  Scot- 
land growing  by  the  roadside.  Now  and  then  a  covey  of  birds 
would  get  up  and  fly  a  yard  or  two ;  but  they  seemed  to  know 
Leo  had  no  gun,  and  did  not  disturb  themselves  much  about 
him.  The  trout-stream  brawled  below,  winding  through  groves 
of  firs,  leaping,  flashing,  and  murmuring  garrulously  to  itself 
on  its  joyous  way,  like  some  living  thing.  Leo  put  up  at  the 
minister's  house,  and  the  wife,  a  good-natured  but  quite  com- 
mon woman,  came  out,  offered  him  milk,  and  smiled  pleasantly, 
as  women  are  apt  to  do  at  sight  of  a  comely  male  face,  more 
especially  when  the  vision  is  rare.  She  showed  him  her  cows 
and  poultry,  whilst  the  tame  goats  came  and  rubbed  against 
his  legs.  Leo  was  glad  of  some  one  to  talk  to,  particularly  a 
woman,  however  coarse  clay  she  might  be  compared  with  the 
fine  porcelain  of  his  idol. 

The  good  wife  questioned  him  as  to  why  he  was  not  shoot- 
ing, and  Leo  told  her  all  about  his  accident  and  of  Olga's 
heroic  conduct.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken  of  her  for 
weeks,  and  it  was  delightful  to  him.  His  auditor  listened  with 
ready  sympathy,  her  shrewd  woman  wit  not  slow  to  grasp  the 
true  state  of  affairs  :  it  was  the  pleasantest  half-hour  Leo  had 
spent  for  an  age.  Then  he  strolled  away  to  the  loch.  It  was 


172  MIGNON. 

a  bright,  hot  day,  with  a  blue  sky,  and  fleecy  clouds  that  hov- 
ered like  great  birds  over  the  moors,  making  dark  shadowy 
patches  in  the  purple.  Leo  thought  of  the  "  flocks  upon  a 
thousand  hills"  as  he  saw  the  sheep  dotted  about  everywhere 
and  heard  the  faint  tinkle  of  their  distant  bells.  A  broad 
ripple  came  across  the  water,  and  the  trout  began  to  jump. 
Snipe  looked  impudently  at  him  from  a  little  island  of  reeds, 
a  wild  duck  got  up  and  flew  away,  a  flock  of  plover  circled 
over  his  head  uttering  their  dismal  cry.  Now  and  again  the 
sharp  report  of  guns  was  borne  on  the  air  and  taken  up  by 
the  echoes. 

Leo  put  his  rod  together  and  began  to  fish.  He  was  in  luck : 
six  good-sized  fish  fell  a  prey  to  him  in  less  than  half  an  hour. 
But  there  the  day's  sport  came  to  an  end :  he  whipped  the 
stream  for  a  couple  of  hours  more,  but  never  got  a  rise.  So 
he  threw  himself  down  under  a  bank  of  heather  and  began  to 
dream.  If  she  were  only  here,  now,  how  passing  fair  the  face 
of  nature  would  seem,  how  eloquent  this  stillness !  If  he 
might  only  sit  mutely  and  watch  her  broad  eyelids,  the  turn 
of  her  head,  and  her  little  jewelled  fingers !  Then  he  drew 
forth  her  cherished  image  that  his  kisses  had  blurred. 

"  If  I  could  only  have  a  good  picture  of  her,"  thought  the 
poor  lad,  "  it  would  be  such  a  comfort  to  me."  Suddenly  the 
thought  flashed  across  him  that  he  would  ask  her  to  give  him 
one  :  it  would  be  an  excuse  for  writing,  whether  she  granted 
his  request  or  not.  Day  after  day  he  had  resolved  to  write  to 
her :  sometimes  he  thought  of  telling  her  what  he  suffered 
and  invoking  her  pity:  he  had  begun  many  a  letter,  had 
written  page  after  page  of  passionate  love  and  despair,  only  to 
tear  them  to  shreds  afterwards.  It  was  unmanly,  he  told  him- 
self, to  importune  a  woman  with  a  love  she  did  not  return. 
But  what  should  a  man  do  who  loved  vainly,  loved  with  a  love 
that  cankered  life  and  ate  the  heart  and  hope  out  of  it?  He 
rejected  utterly  the  old-fashioned  notion  of  drink  and  dissipa- 
tion as  a  remedy  for  the  heartache.  "  If  you  love  a  pure 
woman,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  ought  to  make  your  life  the 
nobler  and  the  better,  even  though  the  love  be  hopeless.  Is 
a  man  to  bring  himself  to  the  level  of  a  beast  because  he  loves 
an  angel  and  cannot  win  her?  If  she  never  knew  it,  it  would 
be  something  to  have  tried  to  be  a  better  fellow  and  of  some 
use  in  the  world  for  her  sake." 


M1GNON.  173 

Then  he  would  call  to  mind  the  talk  they  had  had  together 
about  life. 

"  A  man  can  do  so  much,"  she  had  said,  one  day,  with  a 
sigh.  "  And  there  is  so  little  for  a  woman, — I  mean  for  a 
woman  who  is  alone  in  the  world,  as  I  am,  and  who  has  no 
ties." 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  a  man?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  with  a  frank  smile  :  "  all  my  feelings 
are  so  much  a  woman's  that  I  have  never  regretted  my  sex. 
In  the  first  place  I  am  a  sad  coward,  and  a  man  should  have 
no  nerves  ;  I  hate  hardship  and  discomfort  of  any  sort ;  and 
then  you  know,  with  my  love  of  the  dumb  creation,  I  could 
never  have  been  a  sportsman." 

"  But  what  can  a  man  do  if  he  isn't  a  sportsman,  when  he 
has  no  profession  ?" 

"Do!"  cried  Olga,  with  enthusiasm:  "everything.  Of 
course  I  suppose  it  is  right  for  a  man  to  care  for  field-sports, 
or  he  would  not  be  manly  ;  but  do  you  suppose  he  is  sent  into 
the  world  with  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  kill  and  maim  as 
many  helpless  creatures  as  he  can  get  near  ?  An  excellent 
ambition  for  a  wild  Indian  who  has  to  live  by  his  bow  and 
spear,"  continued  Olga,  scornfully,  "  but  scarcely  worthy  of  a 
Christian  gentleman.  If  you  want  something  to  exercise  your 
combative  faculties  on,  exert  them  upon  misery  and  vice  and 
want.  Oh,  if  I  were  a  man"  (with  ardor),  "I  would  try  to 
make  something  or  some  one  the  better  for  me.  It  is  not  to 
be  done  in  a  lazy  half-hearted  way,  but  if  a  man  desires  from 
his  soul  to  do  good  to  his  kind,  there  are  plenty  of  ways  and 
means." 

"  One  must  go  into  Parliament  first,  I  suppose,"  hazarded 
Leo,  whose  ideas  of  how  to  benefit  humanity  were  extremely 
vague. 

"  No  doubt  that  gives  you  opportunities,"  answered  Olga, 
"  if  you  go  with  the  honest  intention  of  using  them  for  the 
benefit  of  your  fellow-creatures,  and  if  you  enter  upon  the 
life  with  honest  convictions, — not,  like  some  men,  ready  to 
tell  any  falsehood  or  take  any  side  for  the  sake  of  putting  M.  P. 
after  your  name  and  getting  what  social  distinction  those  two 
letters  are  supposed  to  give." 

Leo,  as  he  dreamed  among  the  heather  in  the  sunny  after- 
noon, pondered  in  his  mind  whether  it  were  possible  for  him 

15* 


174  MIONON. 

to  approach  in  the  faintest  degree  to  Olga's  idea  of  what  a 
man  should  be. 

"  It  should  be  a  man's  aim,"  she  had  said,  "  to  protect  all 
that  is  weak,  to  help  all  that  suffers."  His  heart  echoed  to 
hers  as  she  spoke,  but  until  then  it  had  never  entered  his 
mind  that  he  personally  could  carry  out  such  an  idea.  Life 
and  its  aims,  as  he  had  viewed  them  three  months  ago,  seemed 
ignoble  and  unsatisfying  to  him  to-day ;  but  then  came  the 
thought,  "  How  can  I  change  it  now?" 

And  then  and  there,  whilst  the  August  afternoon  waned, 
Leo,  lying  with  closed  eyes  against  the  heather  bank,  thought 
his  problem  out.  He  had  much  to  do  before  he  could  be  fit 
to  enter  upon  a  career  such  as  Olga  had  vaguely  hinted  at ; 
he  must  conquer  his  own  ignorance  and  shyness  first,  and  to 
this  end  he  must  study  and  travel.  Leo's  enthusiasm  rose  as 
he  drew  vivid  pictures  of  an  active  and  useful  future,  and 
through  the  long  vista  one  glorious  idea  lay  always  at  the  end 
of  the  goal :  he  would  win  Olga's  approval.  He  could  never 
be  worthy  of  her,  but  if  he  used  all  his  energies,  all  his 
faculties,  in  straining  to  approach,  however  faintly,  her  ideal, 
he  might  be  able  to  say  to  her,  in  the  days  to  come,  "  What- 
ever I  have  succeeded  in,  whatever  I  have  done  worth  doing, 
was  for  your  dear  sake  and  because  you  inspired  me." 

A  glow  came  over  Leo's  face,  his  lips  moved  to  the  words, 
and  he  opened  his  blue  eyes  with  a  look  of  gladness  and  tri- 
umph, as  though  he  had  already  fought  his  battle  and  con- 
quered. Once  more  life  held  something  for  him.  The  day 
no  longer  seemed  dull,  solitude  oppressed  him  not.  He  rose, 
took  his  rod  to  pieces,  shouldered  his  basket  of  fish,  and  with 
a  light  heart  and  step  wended  his  way  back  to  the  minister's 
house.  He  bade  the  good  wife  adieu,  left  her  a  couple  of  fine 
trout,  and  started  homewards.  A  mile  on,  he  came  upon  two 
of  the  shooting-party,  sitting  on  a  stone  waiting  for  the  dog- 
cart. The  pony  laden  with  game,  the  two  brace  of  handsome 
pointers,  and  the  good-looking  young  sportsmen,  made  a  pic- 
turesque group. 

"  What  sport?"  shouted  Leo,  as  he  rode  up. 

"  Twenty  brace  and  nine  hares,"  responded  Raymond. 
"  What  have  you  done?" 

"  Six  good-sized  trout  j  but  I  left  two  with  the  minister's 
wife." 


MIONON.  175 

"  You  should  never  waste  time  and  civility  on  ugly  old 
women,"  laughed  Raymond  :  "  there's  no  satisfaction  to  be  got 
out  of  it." 

Then  the  dog-cart  came  up,  and  they  all  went  homewards. 

That  evening,  whilst  the  rest  of  the  party  smoked  and 
chatted,  Leo  sat  in  his  room  writing  his  petition  to  Olga.  He 
penned  a  letter  full  of  enthusiastic  plans  for  the  future,  and 
finished  by  begging  her  to  let  him  have  a  good  picture  of  her, 
that  he  might  always  have  her  image  near  to  stimulate  and 
encourage  him.  He  left  the  letter  on  the  table,  went  to  the 
open  window,  and  looked  out  for  a  long  time  into  the  night. 
Presently  he  returned  to  the  table,  and  read  over  what  he  had 
written. 

"  It  is  a  silly,  bragging  letter,"  he  said,  and  tore  it  into 
shreds.  "  If  I  fail,  if,  as  is  more  than  likely,  I  never  do  any- 
thing worth  the  doing,  what  a  pitiful  fellow  she  will  think  me ! 
No,  I  won't  say  a  word  of  my  intentions :  if  she  ever  hears 
of  anything  it  shall  be  actions." 

He  took  up  his  pen  again,  and  wrote : 

"My  DEAR  MRS.  STRATHEDEN, 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  write  to  you  a  great  many  times 
since  I  came  here,  but  there  has  been  nothing  of  the  least  in- 
terest to  tell,  and  I  feel  I  have  already  taken  up  a  great  deal 
too  much  of  your  time.  I  often  think  of  you  and  Mrs.  For- 
gyth  and  the  dear  old  Manor  House  (the  most  perfect  place  in 
the  world,  /think),  and  everything  and  everybody  about  it. 
I  shall  always  remember  that  month  as  the  happiest  of  my 
life.  Don't  be  angry  with  me.  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  very 
great  favor,  but  I  would  almost  rather  you  were  angry  with 
me  and  granted  it,  than  that  you  should  forgive  me  and  re- 
fuse. You  have  done  so  much  for  me,  I  ought  to  be  ashamed 
to  ask  anything  more ;  but  I  do  so  want  to  have  a  good,  a 
really  good  likeness  of  my  dear  preserving  angel.  The  one  I 
have  is  so  faded,  and  does  not  a  thousandth  part  do  you  justice. 
I  know  I  am  making  a  bold  request,  but  I  know,  too,  that 
your  kindness  and  goodness  exceed  even  my  boldness.  I  shall 
look  most  anxiously  for  your  reply.  Please  remember  me 
very  kindly  to  Mrs.  Forsyth,  and  believe  me,  always, 
"  Yours  faithfully  and  devotedly, 

"LEO  VYNER." 


176  M1GNON. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  Mais  la  femme  qui  soutient  Tamour  par  1'estime,  envoie  ses  amants 
d'un  signe,  d'un  bout  du  monde  a  1'autre,  au  combat,  jl  la  gloire,  si  la 
mort,  oil  il  lui  plait  —  cet  empire  est  beau,  ce  me  semble,  et  vaut  bicn 
la  peine  d'etre  achete." 

J.  J.  ROUSSEAU. 

OLGA  had  been  perplexed,  and,  truth  to  tell,  a  little  nettled, 
at  Leo's  persistent  silence.  Her  experience  of  lovers  had  led 
her  to  expect  a  series  of  letters  from  him  containing  every 
phase  of  love  and  despair  :  the  only  thing  she  was  not  pre- 
pared for  was  silence.  She  did  not  comprehend  the  manly, 
unselfish  spirit  that  prompted  his  reticence,  his  fear  of  gi\dng 
pain  to  a  heart  so  kind  and  sympathetic  as  hers  by  betraying 
his  suffering :  woman-like,  she  said  to  herself,  with  some  pique, 
"  It  was  a  boyish  fancy :  he  has  forgotten  all  about  me.  I 
hardly  thought  he  would  be  cured  so  soon." 

If  Leo,  instead  of  being  the  simple  young  fellow  he  was, 
utterly  unversed  in  the  ways  of  women,  had  been  the  most 
astute  of  Lovelaces,  he  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  effective 
way  of  rousing  Olga's  interest  and  keeping  himself  before  her 
mind.  Morning  after  morning  she,  almost  unconsciously  to 
herself,  turned  over  her  letters  to  look  for  his  handwriting, 
and  morning  after  morning  there  was  a  kind  of  unacknowledged 
disappointment  in  her  mind  as  none  was  forthcoming.  When 
Mrs.  Forsyth  occasionally  asked  for  news  of  their  patient,  she 
was  almost  vexed  with  her  friend  for  asking  because  she  had 
nothing  to  tell ;  and  one  day  when  Mrs.  Forsyth  remarked, 
"  I  think  he  might  have  written,"  she  made  quite  a  petulant 
answer.  Her  friend  did  not  seem  to  remark  it,  but  she  was, 
nevertheless,  very  much  astonished  in  her  own  mind.  "  It  is 
not  possible"  she  said  to  herself,  with  great  emphasis,  "  that 
Olga's  heart,  having  been  as  hard  as  the  nether  millstone  for 
years,  is  now  going  to  melt  for  a  boy  like  this."  The  idea 
worried  her  inconceivably,  and  she  began  to  keep  her  eyes 
wide  open. 

Olga  missed  her  patient  more  than  she  would  have  cared  to 


MIGNON.  177 

confess.  It  had  been  pleasant  to  her  to  have  an  object  of  per- 
petual solicitude;  now  it  was  almost  a  pain  to  miss  Leo's 
stalwart  figure,  his  frank  face,  the  blue  eyes  which  followed 
her  about  with  a  dog-like  fidelity  and  affection.  Blue  eyes 
have  not  often  that  faithful  look  of  a  dog's  eyes,  but  Leo's 
had.  She  filled  The  Manor  House  with  guests,  she  would 
not  give  herself  time  to  think,  and  yet  she  missed  him.  Then 
she  grew  angry,  and  said  to  herself  that  he  was  ungrateful, 
and  not  only  ungrateful,  but  ill-mannered.  Common  courtesy 
demanded  that  he  should  have  written  to  express  his  acknowl- 
edgments, if  nothing  else.  So  poor  Leo,  doing  violence  to 
his  desires  that  he  might  not  vex  or  trouble  the  queen  of  his 
heart,  was  working  himself  steadily  into  her  disfavor. 

When  at  last  his  letter  arrived,  she  had  ceased  to  expect  it. 
It  did  not  give  her  much  pleasure,  either :  it  contained  none 
of  the  fervent  protestations  she  might,  from  his  behavior  on 
the  night  of  their  parting,  have  not  unreasonably  expected : 
he  did  not  say  that  life  was  blank  to  him  because  of  his  ab- 
sence from  her.  On  the  contrary,  the  letter  was  evidently 
written  in  a  thoroughly  cheerful  and  happy  vein. 

Olga  flung  it  away  from  her  in  a  pet,  and  made  up  her  mind 
not  to  answer  it  at  all.  With  the  curious  inconsistency  that 
is  a  part  of  human  nature,  more  especially,  I  am  told,  of 
feminine  human  nature,  she  sat  up  long  after  her  guests  had 
retired,  to  write  a  discursive  letter  to  the  very  person  who  had 
been  wanting,  she  said,  in  common  courtesy  to  her.  She  even 
did  a  much  stranger  thing.  By  a  singular  coincidence,  she 
had  the  morning  previously  received  an  exquisite  miniature  of 
herself  by  Dickinson,  which  she  had  designed  as  a  surprise  for 
Mrs.  Forsyth  on  her  birthday.  It  had  caught  her  in  one  of 
her  happiest  moments :  her  own  verdict  was  that  it  flattered 
her  outrageously. 

"  I  will  send  it  to  him,"  said  proud  Olga,  who  had  never 
given  her  portrait  to  a  man  in  her  life.  And  she  did,  with  the 
following  letter: 

"My  DEAR  LEO, — 

"  It  was  an  agreeable  surprise  to  find  you  had  not  forgotten 

us.     Your  long  silence  had  brought  us  to  the  conclusion  that 

sport  (euphemism,  you  know,  in  my  opinion,  for  the  'brutal 

instincts  of  the  savage'),  the  blue-bells  of  Scotland,  and  other 

H* 


178  MIQNON. 

unknown  though  dimly-gucsscd-at  fascinations,  had  obliterated 
The  Manor  House  and  its  occupants  from  your  thoughts. 
Men  are  naturally  ungrateful.  Poor  Truscott  was  very  dis- 
consolate after  you  left :  he  was  like  Othello  with  '  his  occu- 
pation gone,' — the  only  respect,  certainly,  in  which  one  could 
liken  him  to  the  Moor.  More  than  once  he  confided  to  me 
that  the  place  seemed  '  quite  lonesome'  without  you.  Mrs. 
Forsyth  and  I  too  found  the  time  hang  a  little,  until  we  busied 
ourselves  with  preparation  for  an  influx  of  visitors,  who  are 
still  with  us.  It  is  almost  too  hot  to  play  hostess :  fortunately, 
every  one  is  equally  disposed  to  '  far  niente,'  which  relieves 
me  to  a  certain  extent  of  the  labor  of  finding  amusement  for 
them.  Some,  indeed,  have  considerately  paired  off,  and  give 
no  trouble  at  all,  except  to  find  them  when  one  wants  to  organ- 
ize a  game,  picnic,  or  dance :  the  gardens,  as  you  know,  are 
admirably  adapted  for  people  who  are  not  good  at  locality  to 
lose  themselves  in. 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  scold  you.  You  might  have  imagined 
that  I  should  be  anxious  to  know  how  my  patient  progressed. 
For  three  weeks  you  do  not  write  at  all :  then,  when  you  do, 
not  one  word  about  the  arm,  or  your  health,  or  anything  that 
concerns  your  individuality.  I  shall  expect  a  budget  in  return 
for  this,  with  all  the  minutest  details.  What  are  your  plans 
for  the  autumn  and  winter  ?  Sport,  sport,  sport,  I  suppose  ! 
We  shall  be  here  until  October :  you  might  look  in  upon  us 
en  route  from  the  North  to  show  us  how  perfectly  robust  Scotch 
air  has  made  you.  The  doctor  says  you  will  not  do  the  birds 
much  harm  for  a  month  or  two ;  but  I  have  great  faith  in  your 
constitution  and  recuperative  powers. 

"  Write  to  me,  unless  letter-writing  bores  you, — and  even 
if  it  does.     I  shall  always  be  interested  to  hear  about  you,  as, 
after  my  month's  nursing,  I  have  a  feeling  that  you  belong  to 
me.     Give  my  love  to  Raymond,  and  believe  me,  always, 
"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  OLGA  STRATHEPEN. 

"  You  ask  for  my  picture.  I  send  you  one  which  came 
yesterday  and  was  destined  for  ma  chere.  Do  not  betray  me 
to  her.  I  hardly  know  if  you  will  recognize  the  lovely  crea- 
ture in  the  Florentine  frame :  it  would  have  been  a  flattering 
picture  of  me  five  years  ago,  and  ought  only  to  be  given  to 


MIGNON.  179 

some  one  who  is  never  likely  to  see  me  again.  That,  however, 
will  not,  I  hope,  be  the  case  with  you.  Now  good-night; 
every  one  else  is  wrapped  in  slumber,  and  I  begin  to  have  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  of  wanting  to  look  over  my  shoulder  to 
be  sure  there  is  no  one  behind  me.  I  am  very  brave  in  the 
day,  but  when  the  sun  sets  all  my  courage  seems  to  sink 
with  it." 

Why  should  I  tell  what  Leo  felt  and  did  when  the  post 
brought  him  that  most  precious  freight  ?  You  messieurs  who 
pish  and  pshaw  over  love-passages  now  were,  I  presume,  once 
young  and  enthusiastic,  and  had  accesses  of  rapture  and  passion 
that  would  seem  extravagant  and  incomprehensible  to  you 
now.  But  you,  fair  readers,  your  wits  and  imaginations  are 
keen  in  these  delicate  matters,  you  will  conceive  a  tolerably 
correct  idea'  of  the  effect  Olga's  letter  and  picture  had  on  her 
ardent  young  lover.  You  may  be  quite  sure  he  did  not  con- 
sider it  nattering.  How  could  he  ever  thank  her  enough  ? — 
no  one  but  Olga  was  capable  of  so  graceful  an  act,  done  so 
graciously  and  without  making  it  appear  the  favor  it  was. 
Leo  wrote  to  her  without  restraint:  he  poured  out  all  his 
heart  to  her,  just  as  it  would  have  bubbled  up  to  his  lips  had 
she  been  there  :  he  almost  thought  she  was,  with  that  sweet 
face  looking  at  him  out  of  the  picture.  It  was  a  letter  that 
must  have  flattered  any  woman,  it  breathed  such  adoration  and 
reverence.  It  was  not  the  letter  of  a  man  who  hoped  any- 
thing, but  of  one  who  wished  to  offer  the  best  and  purest 
homage  his  heart  was  capable  of. 

Olga  was  wont  to  be  critical  over  her  love-letters,  to  be  very 
captious  over  the  turn  of  a  phrase,  moved  to  immoderate  mirth 
over  poetic  sentiment,  intolerably  disgusted  by  a  misspelt  word. 
And,  alas !  many  young  gentlemen  who  have  been  educated 
at  Eton  and  Oxford  are  occasionally  subject  to  a  lapse  in  their 
spelling.  As  for  soldiers,  poor  fellows !  I  believe  some  of 
them  write  with  the  point  of  their  swords  and  have  not  room 
in  their  kit  for  a  dictionary. 

But  there  was  nothing  in  Leo's  letter  to  move  the  most 
cynical  mouth  to  a  smile :  nay,  when  Olga  had  read  it  she 
laid  it  down  gently  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  Something 
very  like  tears  found  their  way  through  her  white  fingers  and 
fell  softly  on  her  bosom.  She  no  longer  entertained  those 


180  MIGNON. 

doubts  of  Leo's  affection  and  gratitude  that  had  embittered 
her  thoughts  of  him  a  few  days  ago. 

Since  Oliver  Beauregard's  time,  no  one  had  touched  Olga's 
heart.  She  had  liked  men,  had  fancied  she  might  come  to 
care  for  them  in  time,  but  she  had  always  shaken  herself  free 
of  the  fancy.  She  had  schooled  herself  so  hard  to  believe 
that  men  were  not  to  be  trusted,  and  that,  for  women,  love 
was  only  a  synonym  for  misery.  And  yet  there  was  no  woman 
breathing  more  unfitted  by  nature  to,  stand  aloof  from  love 
than  Olga :  no  heart  could  be  more  tender,  more  prone  to  soft 
dependence,  than  hers.  Fate  and  Oliver  Beauregard  had 
made  her  life  the  barren  thing  it  was  to  herself,  even  though 
it  seemed  so  fair  and  enviable  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Leo 
had  stolen  into  her  heart,  the  heart  that  had  been  empty, 
swept  and  garnished  for  so  long :  but  she  would  not  admit  it, 
even  to  her  inmost  self.  She  would  have  scouted  the  idea, 
treated  it  with  impatient  scorn.  That  she,  who  prided  herself 
on  her  discretion,  her  common  sense,  should  for  an  instant  per- 
mit herself  to  entertain  a  thought  of  a  man  years  younger  than 
herself, — absurd  !  preposterous !  She  went  even  so  far  as  to 
say,  disgusting  !  Unfortunately,  knowing  that  things  are  fool- 
ish, being  as  perfectly  awake  and  alive  to  the  fact  as  our  best 
friends  or  our  worst  enemies  can  possibly  be,  does  not  always 
hinder  us  from  doing  them. 

The  guests  had  left  The  Manor  House :  Olga  had  nothing  to 
distract  her  mind :  so  she  retired  to  her  hammock  on  the  green 
island,  taking  with  her  Balzac's  historiette,  "  La  Femme  aban- 
donnee."  Had  there  been  any  one  to  watch  her  face  as  she 
read,  they  would  not  have  failed  to  be  struck  by  the  lively 
emotions  which  chased  each  other  there  during  the  perusal. 
Need  I  say  that  for  Gaston  she  read  Leo,  for  the  Vicomtesse 
de  Beaus£ant,  herself?  Th-e  lines  which  I  transcribe  seemed 
to  her  singularly  applicable  to  her  young  lover : 

"  Elle  trouvait  en  lui  le  reve  de  toutes  les  femmes,  un  hermme 
chez  lequel  n'existait  encore  ni  cet  egoisme  de  famille  et  de 
fortune,  ni  ce  sentiment  personnel  qui  finissent  par  tuer,  dans 
leur  premier  elan,  le  devouement,  1'honneur,  1'abnegation, 
1'estiine  de  soi-menie,  fleurs  d'ame  sitot  fanles  qui  enrichissent 
la  vie  d'emotions  dedicates  quoique  fortes,  et  raviven*  en 
1'homme  la  probite  du  coeur." 

There  are  few  more  touching  stories  than  the  one  of  this 


MIONON.  181 

woman,  plunged  from  a  life  which  was  one  continual  fete  to 
the  horrors  of  isolation,  buried  alive  with  the  memories  of  her 
brilliant,  happy,  passionate  youth.  "  Being"  (as  Balzac  de- 
scribes her)  "  neither  wife  nor  mother,  repulsed  by  the  world, 
deprived  of  the  only  heart  which  could  make  hers  beat  without 
shame,  unable  to  draw  support  from  any  source  for  her  faint- 
ing soul,  she  must  seek  strength  in  herself,  live  her  own  life, 
and  have  no  other  hope  than  that  of  a  forsaken  woman, — to 
wait  for  death,  to  welcome  its  coming  in  spite  of  the  youth  and 
beauty  which  are  still  left  to  her,  to  feel  herself  destined  for 
happiness,  and  to  perish  without  receiving,  without  giving  it ! 
A  woman  !  What  a  sorrow  !" 

Why  should  Olga  be  intensely  affected  by  this  story  ?  Her 
life  had  been  as  different  from  Madame  de  Beauseant's  as  one 
woman's  could  well  be  from  another,  and  yet,  had  their  cases 
been  identical,  Olga  could  not  have  been  more  forcibly  touched. 
Was  it  on  the  principle  that  made  John  Wesley  say,  as  he  saw 
the  poor  wretch  dragged  to  Tyburn,  "  There  goes  John  Wesley 
but  for  the  grace  of  God  ?"  Why  should  any  of  us  be  proud 
to  have  been  sheltered  from  temptation  ?  There  is  only  one 
thing  that  can  make  pride  worthy, — to  have  been  tempted  and 
to  have  conquered. 

I  fancy,  however,  that  what  touched  Olga  so  keenly  was 
sympathy  with  the  woman's  loneliness,  with  her  passionate 
regret  of  the  days  of  her  youth,  passing  unfilled,  unblessed  by 
love  or  joy.  Here  was  the  similitude,  the  point  of  union.  Then 
Olga  read  of  Gaston's  first  interview  with  the  vicomtesse,  his 
passionate  letter,  burning  with  all  the  enthusiasm,  the  homage, 
of  a  young  man's  first  love  (a  letter  inferior  to  Leo's,  she  told 
herself )j  the  cold  reasoning  tone  of  Madame  de  Beauseant's 
answer  (such  an  answer  as  Olga  felt  prudence  and  discretion 
would  prompt  herself  to  make)  : 

"  J'ai  bientot  trente  ans,  monsieur ;  et  vous  en  avez  vingt- 
deux  h,  peine.  Vous  ignorez  vous-meme  ce  que  seront  vos 
pensees  quand  vous  arriverez  a  mon  age.  Les  serments  que 
vous  jurez  si  facilement  aujourd'hui  pourront  alors  vous  par- 
aitre  bien  lourds." 

She  read  of  the  vicomtesse' s  flight,  of  Gaston's  pursuit,  of 
the  nine  years  of  their  happiness,  when  time  seemed  to  dream, 
and  everything  smiled  upon  them.  Then  came  the  interven- 
tion of  Gaston's  mother,  and  the  question  of  his  marriage  with 

16 


182  MIONON. 

the  heiress.  Here  Olga  awoke,  with  a  start,  to  the  fact  that 
her  case  and  Madame  de  Beauseant's  could  not  in  any  way  be 
parallel.  The  vicomtesse  was  not  Gaston's  wife.  She  fell 
into  a  reverie.  Would  not  the  illusion  vanish  all  the  more 
swiftly  because  of  the  tie,  and  would  it  be  less  hard  to  be  for- 
saken in  the  spirit  than  in  the  letter? 

She  read  on  to  the  end  with  burning  eyes  and  a  throbbing 
heart,  read  the  heart-rending  appeal  of  the  woman  to  whom 
Gaston's  love  was  all  that  life  held,  his  reply,  his  desertion  of 
her,  his  remorse — too  late. 

Olga  sprang  up.  "  Never !"  she  cried  to  herself,  with 
feverish  energy ;  "  never  !" 

From  that  moment  she  resolved  to  banish  Leo  from  her 
thoughts. 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  Mrs.  Forsyth,  taking  a  solitary  stroll, 
happened  to  turn  her  steps  to  the  island.  Her  attention  was 
arrested  by  a  book  lying  on  the  grass :  it  was  open  face  down- 
wards, and  looked  as  if  it  had  fallen  or  been  thrown  there. 
Mrs.  Forsyth  picked  it  up,  and  observed  that  there  were  marks 
of  tears  upon  the  open  page.  She  put  up  her  eyeglass  to  look 
at  the  heading.  It  was  "  La  Femme  abandonnee." 

"  Then  she  is  really  serious,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  an 
air  of  stupefaction.  Mrs.  Forsyth  took  the  book  and  replaced 
it  on  the  shelf,  but  she  made  no  remark  on  the  subject  to 
Olga. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

"  For  indeed  I  knew 
Of  no  more  subtle  master  under  heaven, 

Not  only  to  keep  down  the  base  in  man, 
But  teach  high  thought  and  amiable  words, 
And  courtliness,  and  the  desire  of  fame, 
And  love  of  truth,  and  all  that  makes  a  man." 

TENNYSON. 

LEO,  very  characteristically,  had  said  nothing  in  his  letters 
to  his  father  about  his  accident,  but  had  merely  hinted  that 
he  had  slightly  strained  his  left  arm.  He  would  not  for  the 


MIGNON.  183 

world  have  caused  his  father  any  anxiety  or  uneasiness,  and 
was  singularly  free  from  that  form  of  selfishness  which  likes 
to  make  the  most  of  its  sufferings. 

Mr.  Vyner  was  quite  ignorant  of  Leo's  compelled  abnega- 
tion of  sport,  for  in  his  letters  the  latter  always  chronicled  the 
"  bags"  and  suppressed  all  mention  of  the  fourth  gun.  On 
the  30th  of  August,  Leo  received  the  following  letter : 

"  MY  DEAR  LEO, — 

"  I  have  had  a  great  disappointment.  As  you  know,  I  was 
to  have  gone  to  Cobham  for  the  1st,  and  we  expected  some 
excellent  shooting.  I  have  just  heard  from  Mrs.  C.  that  her 
poor  husband  has  had  a  paralytic  seizure.  The  news  has 
shocked  me  very  much,  and  will  you,  I  am  sure.  This  puts 
out  all  my  plans.  It  would  not  seem  like  the  first  of  Septem- 
ber if  I  did  not  take  my  gun  out ;  but  it  is  dull  work  shoot- 
ing alone,  and,  besides,  I  would  not  rob  you  of  your  share  of  the 
sport.  I  wish  you  were  here  :  however,  I  don't  want  to  inter- 
fere with  your  pleasure,  as  I  suppose  you  are  having  capital 
sport  and  enjoying  yourself  thoroughly.  There  are  any  quan- 
tity of  birds,  and  we  shall  have  lots  of  pheasants  this  season, 
I  am  glad  to  say. 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"RALPH  VYNER." 

After  reading  the  letter,  Leo  made  up  his  mind  to  start  for 
home  at  once.  He  saw  that  his  father  was  anxious  to  have 
him,  and  determined  not  to  disappoint  him.  True,  he  could  do 
very  little  in  the  way  of  shooting ;  but  the  old  gentleman 
would  like  to  have  him  to  walk  with  and  to  talk  over  affairs  at 
night.  Leo  had  only  one  regret ;  but  it  was  a  very  keen  one. 
He  had  looked  forward  so  intensely  to  seeing  Olga  on  his  way 
home.  Had  his  father's  letter  come  one  day  sooner,  he  could 
have  managed  it ;  but  now  there  was  only  just  time  to  get 
home  by  the  following  night. 

Leo  wrote  at  once  to  Mrs.  Stratheden,  expressing  his  dis- 
appointment. That  lady,  on  receipt  of  the  letter,  frowned, 
bit  her  lip,  and  chose  to  imagine  that  if  he  had  made  an  effort 
he  could  have  come.  She  tore  the  displeasing  communication 
to  shreds,  and  sat  down  to  write  invitations  for  a  new  party 
at  The  Manor  House. 


184  MIGNON. 

Since  the  day  he  had  spent  thinking  by  the  loch  among  the 
moors,  Leo  had  never  swerved  from  the  intentions  he  had 
formed  there.  The  one  tiling  that  troubled  him  was  how  to 
break  the  news  to  his  father.  Mr.  Vyner  was  opposed  to  pro- 
gress,— thought  people  fools  who  wanted  to  leave  a  country, 
even  for  a  few  months,  which,  in  his  opinion,  was  the  only  one 
fit  to  live  in,  and  believed  the  life  of  a  country  gentleman  with 
a  comfortable  income  superior  to  any  other.  Up  to  the  present 
time,  Leo  had  accepted  his  father's  opinions,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  acquiesced  in  them :  he  had  been  quite  satisfied  with 
the  idea  of  following  in  the  paternal  footsteps  and  devoting 
his  life  to  tranquil  country  pursuits,  alternated  by  the  excite- 
ment of  sport.  But  suddenly  all  his  views  had  changed ;  such 
a  life  seemed  stagnation,  a  living  death.  He  felt  a  conscious- 
ness of  greater  capabilities  in  himself:  the  chords  of  ambition 
had  been  touched  in  him,  his  heart  vibrated  to  them,  he 
could  no  longer  bear  to  contemplate  a  useless  future  such  as 
was  destined  for  him. 

The  thought  of  breaking  his  new  views  to  his  father  had 
given  Leo  considerable  uneasiness.  Filial  instincts  were 
strong  in  him :  until  now,  the  most  sacred  duty  in  life  had 
been  yielding  to  his  father's  wishes,  and  Mr.  Vyner  had  been 
an  eminently  kind,  indulgent,  and  unexacting  father.  Leo 
loved  and  respected  him,  respected  him  because  he  was  his 
father,  without  stopping  to  question  for  an  instant  whether  the 
respect  was  due  to  him  independently  of  their  relations  to  each 
other.  Here  again  he  differed  from  many  of  his  contempo- 
raries, who  look  with  a  mixture  of  condescension  and  contempt 
on  their  fathers,  and  treat  them  rather  as  necessary  evils  than 
oracles :  the  same  healthy  moral  tone  that  gave  him  his  chival- 
rous ideas  of  women  made  him  reverence  his  father  and  treat 
old  people  with  respect.  The  fact  that  he  was  perfectly  un- 
conscious of  holding  any  particular  opinions  on  these  subjects, 
and  merely  acted  as  nature  and  good  feeling  prompted  him, 
made  him  thoroughly  devoid  of  any  priggishness. 

The  news  must  be  broken  sooner  or  later.  How  should  he 
break  it  ?  This  thought  was  becoming  Leo's  torment.  He 
longed  to  take  the  plunge,  but  said  to  himself, — 

"  I  won't  spoil  his  sport  for  the  first  day  or  two." 

Mr.  Vyner  was  exceedingly  concerned  when  he  heard  the 
nature  of  his  son's  accident.  Leo  mentioned  Mrs.  Stratheden's 


MIGNON.  185 

heroic  conduct,  but  he  could  not  expatiate  upon  it  as  he  had 
done  to  the  Scotch  minister's  wife.  Somehow,  he  felt  tongue- 
tied  ;  and  then  he  did  not  wish  his  father  to  connect  his  new 
views  in  any  way  with  Olga. 

"  Plucky  woman  that,  by  George !"  said  Mr.  Vyner,  with 
enthusiasm.  "  I  should  like  to  see  her  and  thank  her.  Here's 
her  health  1"  (the  recital  took  place  after  dinner).  "  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  her  nerve,  you  might  not  have  been  sitting 
here  now,  my  boy."  And  the  father's  eyes  moistened,  and  he 
held  out  his  hand,  and  the  two  grasped  each  other  as  is  the 
undemonstrative  way  of  Englishmen,  though  it  speaks  volumes 
to  themselves.  "  Confoundedly  careless  of  young  L'Estrange  ! 
I  hate  playing  with  fire-arms :  you  might  just  as  well  play  at 
tasting  poisonfe.  Keep  them  for  when  you  want  them,  is  my 
theory." 

The  days  went  on  :  his  father  seemed  so  happy  and  in  such 
spirits,  Leo  had  no  heart  to  break  the  evil  tidings :  evil  they 
would  be  he  knew  well  enough,  but  secretly  he  was  chafing  and 
miserable. 

It  was  the  fifth  evening  after  his  return,  and  they  were 
smoking  their  after-dinner  cigars  together. 

"  Leo,"  said  Mr.  Vyner,  suddenly,  "  do  you  know  I  have 
been  thinking  you  ought  to  see  Moore  ?  I'm  afraid  your  arm 
is  not  so  well :  you  seem  so  restless  and  fidgety.  I'm  not 
very  fond  of  the  profession, — thank  God,  I  haven't  been  to  a 
doctor  for  thirty  years  myself, — but  in  a  case  of  accident  it's 
just  as  well  to  be  watched :  eh,  my  boy  ?" 

Then  Leo  suddenly  broke  out : 

"  My  dear  old  dad,  it  isn't  that.  My  arm's  right  enough. 
I  have  something  on  my  mind." 

His  father  looked  at  him.  He  had  not  a  very  rapid  intelli- 
gence, but  two  ideas  occurred  to  him  simultaneously.  A 
woman.  Debt.  If  a  man  had  anything  on  his  mind,  it  must 
be  connected  with  one  or  the  other. 

Leo  paused,  and  Mr.  Vyner  had  time  to  take  a  long  puff  at 
his  cigar.  Then  he  said  with  a  certain  dry  emphasis, — 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  nothing  so  bad  but  what  your  father 
can  help  you  out  of  it  ?" 

"  My  dear  father,"  Leo  answered,  quickly,  "  if  it  were  not 
for  you,  it  would  not  be  a  trouble  at  all." 

Mr.  Vyner  stared  blankly  at  his  son.  His  imagination, 
16* 


186  MIGNON. 

having  expended  itself  on  the  two  causes  of  a  man's  undoing, 
refused  to  grasp  a  third.  So  he  waited  to  be  enlightened. 

"  You  know,"  proceeded  Leo,  a  little  hurriedly,  "  I  have 
always  thought  the  sort  of  life  we  led  the  best  in  the  world. 
I  am  devoted  to  hunting  and  shooting;  but  latterly,  lat- 
terly  " 

Leo  stopped :  he  would  not  for  the  world  make  any  reflec- 
tion upon  his  father  by  saying  such  a  life  was  selfish  and  use- 
less, so  he  had  to  come  to  a  full  stop. 

"  Well?"  said  Mr.  Vyner,  dryly,— "  latterly  ?" 

"  I  have  thought,"  proceeded  his  son,  "  I  have  thought  I 
should  like  to  find  a  little  food  for  my  mind, — to  travel, — to 
see  other  countries,  and " 

Mr.  Vyner's  mind  returned  triumphantly  to  his  first  idea. 

"  There  is  a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  this,"  he  remarked,  in 
a  tone  which  admitted  of  no  contradiction. 

Leo  was  dumfounded  at  his  father's  perspicacity.  He  did 
not  know  that  a  man  has  only  to  live  a  certain  number  of 
years  to  be  able  to  ask  with  perfect  security  the  world-famed 
question,  "  Who  is  she  ?" 

u  I  knew  it,"  cried  Mr.  Vyner,  triumphantly. 

"  Well,  yes,"  answered  Leo,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  have  spoken  of  her,  but  it  is  quite  true.  I  love  the 
best,  the  noblest  woman  in  the  world." 

"  Of  course,"  interrupted  his  father,  dryly. 

"  Ay,  sir,  she  is ;  and  you  have  only  to  see  her  to  confess 
that  whatever  I  might  say  of  her  would  be  insufficient  to  do 
her  justice." 

Mr.  Vyner  smiled  significantly  to  himself,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  The  poor  boy  is  very  far  gone ;  but  let  him  rave  :  his 
complaint  requires  humoring." 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  encouragingly,  "  and  when  am  I  to 
see  this  young  paragon,  whom  I  suppose  you  intend  to  give 
me  for  a  daughter-in-law  ?" 

A  cloud  came  over  Leo's  face. 

"  There  is  no  more  chance  of  her  being  anything  to  me 
than  there  is  of  my  becoming  King  of  England." 

Mr.  Vyner's  brow  contracted. 

"Leo,"  he  uttered,  sternly,  "you're  not  making  a  fool  of 
yourself  about  a  married  woman  !" 

"  Good  heavens,  sir,"  cried  Leo,  warmly,  "  what  do  you 


MIGNON.  187 

take  me  for?"  He  was  young  and  ingenuous  enough  to  look 
upon  loving  another  man's  wife  as  a  crime. 

His  father's  face  relaxed. 

"  Well,"  he  remarked,  "  perhaps  you  will  explain  the  mat- 
ter. If  a  woman  isn't  married  and  isn't  a  princess  of  the 
blood  royal,  there  is  no  reason,  as  far  as  I  know,  why  any 
man  shouldn't  marry  her,  provided  he  be  a  gentleman  and  can 
keep  her.  Pray  why  can't  she  be  anything  to  you  ?" 

"  She  is  beautiful,  clever,  rich,"  answered  Leo :  "  she  has 
everything.  In  comparison  I  have  nothing.  What  have  I 
to  offer  her?" 

"  Hang  it  all,"  cried  Mr.  Vyner,  testily,  "  you  are  not  a 
pauper.  You  will  have  five  thousand  a  year  when  I  die,  and  the 
property  is  improving,  and  if  you  have  set  your  heart  on  mar- 
rying, you  might  trust  to  my  liberality,  I  think.  Who  is  this 
girl  ?  A  daughter  of  Mrs.  Stratheden,  I  presume." 

"  It  is  Mrs.  Stratheden  herself,"  answered  Leo,  briefly. 

His  father  gave  a  low  whistle  of  intelligence. 

"  A  widow  !  the  devil !  that  accounts  for  it.  You  need  say 
no  more,  my  boy.  Older  than  yourself,  of  course  ;  been  lead- 
ing you  on,  playing  the  fool  with  you,  and  then  sending  you 
to  the  right-about.  I  know  their  game.  I  always  had  a 
horror  of  widows  myself.  Well,  I  am  very  glad,  under  the 
circumstances,  there  is  no  chance  of  my  having  her  for  a 
daughter-in-law." 

Leo  turned  pale.  He  felt  his  passion  rising.  Never  in  his 
life  had  he  spoken  an  angry  word  to  his  father.  He  got  up 
quickly  and  went  out  through  the  open  window  into  the  garden 
and  at  racing  speed  towards  the  wood.  He  felt  that  nothing 
but  rapid  movement  or  fierce  speech  could  allay  the  fury  in 
his  heart.  His  angel,  his  darling,  to  be  profaned  by  coarse 
speech ! 

"  D the  woman !"  muttered  Mr.  Vyner,  as  his  son 

dashed  through  the  window.  "  I  did  not  think  the  boy  cared 
two  straws  about  a  petticoat.  Some  artful  designing  hussy, 
I'll  be  bound,  probably  old  enough  to  be  his  mother :  those 
are  the  women  who  always  get  hold  of  raw  boys  and  make 
fools  of  them.  Thank  God,  no  woman  ever  made  a  fool  of 
me  !"  And  Mr.  Vyner  pulled  up  his  shirt-collar  with  a  justi- 
fiable feeling  of  pride. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  Leo  returned. 


188  MIQNON. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  if  you  don't  mind,  we'll  drop 
the  subject  of  my — my  love,  and  talk  about  the  other  thing." 

u  But  I  suppose  one's  the  natural  consequence  of  the  other," 
growled  Mr.  Vyner.  "  When  a  man's  in  love,  and  his  suit 
don't  prosper,  he  generally  does  one  or  two  things.  If  he  has 
the  clement  of  the  blackguard  in  him,  he  goes  full  tilt  to  the 
devil ;  if  he's  a  decent  fellow,  he  fills  his  head  with  quixotic 
ideas  about  doing  something  very  wonderful  in  the  world,  set- 
ting the  Thames  on  fire,  or  something  equally  remarkable. 
You'll  get  all  right  when  hunting  begins.  Meantime,  if  you 
fancy  travelling  for  a  month  or  two,  go,  in  God's  name,  and  I 
will  write  you  a  check  for  your  journey  to-night  if  you  like." 

"  Thanks,  sir,  but  that  isn't  the  sort  of  travelling  I  want. 
It  will  take  a  good  deal  more  than  a  couple  of  months  for  me 
to  see  what  I  want  to.  A  tour  in  Switzerland  or  Germany  is 
the  furthest  from  my  thoughts.  I  want  to  go  to  America, 
not  as  a  cockney  tourist,  but  to  learn  something  about  the 
country.  In  fact,"  continued  Leo,  dropping  his  voice,  "  I 
want  more  than  that :  I  want  to  go  round  the  world,  and  to 
do  it  at  leisure." 

A  long  silence  followed.  Mr.  Yyner  was  paralyzed  :  he  felt 
as  if  Leo  had  struck  him, — a  mingled  rage  and  stupor,  as 
though  the  son  whom  he  loved,  and  who  had  always  been 
dutiful,  had  defied  and  threatened  him.  His  head  sank  on  his 
chest,  his  whole  soul  was  flooded  with  disappointment. 

Leo  saw  that  he  was  suffering,  and  was  smitten  by  remorse. 

"  Don't  be  vexed,  dad,"  he  murmured,  leaning  forward  and 
laying  a  gentle  hand  on  his  father's  arm  :  "  think  it  over.  I 
don't  want  to  go  yet.  God  knows  I  would  rather  do  anything 
than  pain  you ;  but  I  feel  that  to  go  on  doing  nothing  and 
eating  my  heart  out  with  wanting  what  I  cannot  have,  would 
kill  me." 

"  You  might  think  of  me,"  answered  his  father,  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  "  Have  I  been  a  bad  father  to  you  ? — have  I  ever  de- 
nied you  anything?  You  have  lived  all  your  life  with  me, 
and  I've  done  the  best  I  could  for  you,  and  yet  in  a  few  days 
this  woman  makes  you  forget  all  about  me  and  what  you  owe 
to  me,  and  you  don't  care  two  straws  whether  you  bring  my 
gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  or  not." 

Anything  like  pathos  from  his  father  was  so  unusual  that 
it  stirred  Leo's  heart  to  its  inmost  depths. 


MIGNON.  189 

"  But,  dad,"  he  pleaded,  "  why  should  you  grieve  ?  It 
would  only  be  a  matter  of  eight  or  nine  months ;  and  I  have 
been  away  from  you  nearly  as  long  as  that  before." 

"  In  a  Christian  country,"  answered  Mr.  Vyner,  with  en- 
ergy. "  If  you  broke  your  neck  hunting,  or  got  shot,  I  might 
say,  *  God's  will  be  done,'  but  out  there  among  savages,  to  be 
murdered  or  tortured  perhaps,  or  shipwrecked  on  the  voyage. 
No,  no !  My  belief  is  that  Providence  looks  after  those  who 
look  after  themselves,  not  people  who  tempt  Him  by  wander- 
ing where  they  have  no  business  and  putting  themselves  wil- 
fully in  harm's  way.  If  you're  ambitious,  if  you  want  some- 
thing to  occupy  your  mind,  why  not  stop  at  home  and  go  into 
Parliament?" 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  chance,"  said  Leo,  eagerly. 

"  Vivian  was  sounding  me  about  it  only  the  other  day,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Vyner.  "  He  wants  to  give  up  his  seat  at  the  next 
election.  He  is  getting  worn  out,  and  late  hours  don't  suit 
him ;  and  he  hinted  that  if  you  liked  to  go  in  for  it,  you 
should  have  all  his  influence." 

"  Did  he?"  cried  Leo,  with  enthusiasm.  "  And  what  did 
you  say?" 

"  I  said,"  answered  Mr.  Vyner,  bitterly,  "  that  my  son  and 
I  knew  the  value  of  God's  gifts  too  well  to  live  in  a  pestilen- 
tial atmosphere  the  best  months  of  the  year,  and  to  make  our- 
selves the  servants  of  a  party,  whether  of  ambitious  place- 
hunters  or  of  a  parcel  of  poor  fools  who  don't  know  when 
they're  well  off.  I  thought  I  might  speak  for  you  as  I  would 
for  myself.  I  have  heard  '  It's  a  wise  child  that  knows  its 
own  father,'  but  it  seems  to  me  there  would  be  just  as  much 
truth  in  it  if  they  put  it  the  other  way." 

An  hour  ago,  Mr.  Vyner  would  as  soon  have  thought  of 
proposing  to  his  son  to  go  into  Parliament  as  of  suggesting  to 
him  to  shoot  pheasants  in  August ;  but  then  there  had  been 
no  question  of  the  other  dreadful  alternative.  One  was  an  act 
of  egregious  folly  which  only  entailed  a  certain  waste  of  money 
and  time ;  the  other  seemed  to  him  a  question  of  life  or 
death. 

Leo  dropped  the  subject  of  his  travels  and  went  eagerly 
into  discussion  of  his  chances  of  succeeding  Mr.  Vivian. 

"Pray,"  said  his  father,  severely,  "may  I  ask  upon  what 
grounds  you  consider  yourself  fit  to  become  a  legislator  for 


190  MIGN'ON. 

your  country?  Not,"  he  continued,  with  angry  sarcasm.  " but 

what  there  are  some  of  the  d dest  fools  in  the  House  that 

you  could  meet  with  in  a  day's  journey." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  at  present,  of  course,  dad,"  answered 
Leo,  deprecatingly,  "  but  I  can  study,  and  I  have  lots  of  time 
before  me." 

"  You  think  you're  going  to  become  a  great  orator  all  at 
once,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Mr.  Vyner,  who  had  fallen  into  an 
exceedingly  bad  temper,  a  most  unusual  occurrence.  "  Why, 
when  you  had  to  make  a  speech  to  the  tenants  at  your  coming 
of  age,  you  were  as  nervous  as  you  could  be,  and  blushed  and 
stammered  like  a  school-girl.  They  couldn't  hear  you  half 
way  down  the  tent." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  mend  of  my  shyness,  sir,"  answered 
Leo,  good-humoredly.  "And  I  don't  suppose  any  great  de- 
mand will  be  made  on  my  oratorical  powers  at  present.  I 
don't  expect  to  be  Prime  Minister  or  Leader  of  the  Opposition, 
for  the  next  ten  years  at  all  events,"  he  added,  laughing. 

"That's  fortunate!"  said  his  father,  grimly.  He  was  not  to 
be  joked  into  a  good  humor.  "  I  shouldn't  have  wondered  if 
you  did.  The  conceit  of  boys  nowadays  passes  all  understand- 
ing. However,  in  case  they  should  discover  the  genius  that  I 
am  probably  too  great  a  fool  to  see,  and  want  to  give  you  a 
place  in  the  Cabinet  all  at  once,  you'd  better  take  a  trip  to 
the  sea-side  and  fill  your  mouth  with  pebbles  and  roar  to  the 
waves !  No  doubt  you'll  soou  be  a  second  Demosthenes  and 
rant  with  the  best  of  'em!" 

With  this,  Mr.  Vyner  pulled  the  bell  sharply,  and  ordered 
his  whisky-and- water  in  so  irascible  a  tone  that  the  butler 
was  thunderstruck. 

"  I  do  think,"  he  observed  down-stairs,  "  that  master  and 
Mr.  Leo  must  have  been  having  words,  the  old  gentleman 
spoke  in  such  a  hirritable  tone.  But  there !  I  don't  know, 
either;  for  Mr.  Leo  looked  just  as  smiling  and  pleasant  as 
ever." 

"  Bless  his  heart !"  said  the  comely  housekeeper,  who  doted 
on  him  ;  "  he  always  has  a  smile  and  a  pleasant  word  for  every 
one.  I  do  wish  I  could  see  him  looking  as  stout  and  strong 
as  when  he  left  home.  He's  fell  away  dreadfully." 

Nothing  more  was  said  by  Mr.  Vyner  and  Leo  that  night 
on  the  subject  so  distasteful  to  the  former,  uor  was  it  alluded 


MIGNON.  191 

to  again  for  some  days;  but  Leo  took  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  Mr.  Vivian  and  having  some  private  conversation  with 
him. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  have  had  this  talk  with  you,"  Mr. 
Vivian  said,  in  conclusion,  shaking  Leo  heartily  by  the  hand. 
"  I  had  .no  idea  you  held  the  views  you  do,  nor  indeed  that 
you  had  any  political  views  at  all.  I  pitched  upon  you  in  my 
mind  because  I  thought  you  would  do  less  harm  than  a  good 
many  others ;  now  I  shall  look  forward  to  see  what  good  you 
can  do.  Don't  disappoint  me.  I  don't  think  you  will." 

To  which  Leo  returned  a  modest  answer. 

"  I  know  I  am  very  young  and  extremely  ignorant  at  present, 
but  I  can  learn.  I  don't  mean  to  aim  at  great  things  :  my 
only  ambition  is  to  be  of  some  use,  however  humble,  in  the 
world.  If  I  fail,  it  shall  not  be  for  want  of  trying." 

Leo  betook  himself  with  ardor  to  the  study  of  the  books 
Mr.  Vivian  recommended.  It  was  dry  work  sometimes,  and 
a  weariness  to  his  flesh,  but  he  persevered  all  the  same.  Some- 
times he  would  wake  up  with  a  start,  to  find  that  the  subject 
of  the  British  Constitution  had  changed  itself  into  Olga :  her 
dark  eyes  were  looking  at  him  from  the  page,  her  glowing 
lips  were  preaching  eloquent  themes  in  his  ears.  There  were 
times  when  he  would  fling  his  book  away,  and,  burying  his 
face  in  his  arms,  cry,  "Oh,  my  darling !  my  darling  !  how  can 
I  live  my  life  through  without  you?" 

The  desire  to  see  her  became  almost  an  agony  :  he  grew 
white  and  thin,  and  wandered  about  like  a  restless  spirit.  He 
found  it  impossible  to  concentrate  his  thoughts  upon  any  other 
subject.  So  at  last  he  wrote  to  her,  and  asked  permission  to 
pay  a  visit  to  The  Manor  House.  Two  days  later  he  had  an 
answer  dated  from  Curzon  Street : 

"  DEAR  LEO, — 

"  I  am  in  town  for  a  week  or  so,  and  shall  be  very  glad  to 
see  you.  I  am  then  going  on  a  round  of  visits,  and  don't 
expect  to  be  back  in  Blankshire  until  after  Christmas.  Come 
and  dine  with  me  to-morrow,  and  we  will  go  to  a  theatre." 

"  Do  you  mind  putting  off  shooting  the  Ashton  coverts  for 
a  day  or  two,  sir?"  said  Leo,  looking  up  at  his  father  as  he  laid 
the  letter  down. 


192  MIGNON. 

"  No,  my  boy ;  it  makes  no  difference  to  me,"  answered  Mr. 
Vyner,  in  a  cheerful  voice.  "  Where  are  you  off  to?" 

"  I  have  business  in  town,"  was  on  Leo's  lips ;  but  he  had 
such  a  habit  of  speaking  the  truth  that  the  words  did  not 
come  readily. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  town  for  a  couple  of  days,"  he  said. 

"  All  right.  I'll  get  you  to  take  up  my  new  gaiters  and  tell 
Roberts  they  don't  fit ;  and  you  might  as  well  look  in  at 
Moore's  and  see  how  they  are  getting  on  with  that  gun." 

Mr.  Vyner  spoke  in  a  frank,  unsuspicious  tone ;  inwardly 
he  was  saying, — 

"  He's  going  to  see  that  infernal  woman  1" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  Then  after  length  of  days  he  said  thus :  'Love 
For  love's  own  sake,  and  for  the  love  thereof, 
Let  no  harsh  words  untune  your  gracious  mood; 
For  good  it  were,  if  anything  be  good, 
To  comfort  me  in  this  pain's  plague  of  mine; 
Seeing  thus  how  neither  sleep  nor  bread  nor  wine 
Seems  pleasant  to  me,  yea,  no  thing  that  is 
Seems  pleasant  to  me;  only  I  know  this, 
Love's  ways  are  sharp  for  palms  of  piteous*  feet 
To  travel,  but  the  end  of  such  is  sweet: 
Now  do  with  me  as  seemeth  you  the  best.' " 

The  Two  Dreams. 

LEO'S  heart  beat  violently  as  he  jumped  from  his  hansom  at 
the  door  of  No.  1000  Curzon  Street.  In  the  joy  of  his  heart, 
he  would  have  liked  to  supplement  his  cordial  "  How  are-  you, 
Truscott?"  by  a  shake  of  the  hand.  He  had  not  seen  Mrs. 
Stratheden  since  she  bade  him  good-by  by  the  water-side  that 
night:  as  he  walked  up-stairs  behind  Truscott,  he  was  trem- 
bling with  suppressed  excitement.  He  was  going  to  see  her 
again  ! — he  would  not  have  given  up  this  rapture,  nor  delayed 
it  an  hour,  for  the  fairest  offer  which  any  tempter  could  have 
made  him.  Such  it  is  to  be  young  and  in  the  first  flush  of 
the  master-passion ! 


MIGNON.  193 

But  the  room  into  which  he  is  ushered  is  empty.  A  minute 
or  two  of  eager  impatience,  then  the  door  opens  and  admits 
the  queen  of  his  heart.  Leo  feels  a  wild  desire  to  throw  him- 
self at  her  feet,  to  commit  some  extravagance  in  the  exuberance 
of  his  joy ;  but,  fortunately,  there  are  hidden  laws  which 
prevent  a  young  gentleman  in  evening  dress  and  a  white  tie 
from  making  a  mountebank  of  himself:  so  he  only  goes  for- 
ward with  a  heightened  color  and  kindling  eyes,  to  take  and 
kiss  the  dainty  hand  that  is  cordially  outstretched  to  him. 
Then  he  sits  down  by  Olga,  not  in  the  least  conscious  that  he 
is  embarrassing  her  by  the  fixity  and  ardor  of  his  gaze.  It  is 
such  intense  pleasure  to  see  her  once  again.  Olga  cannot  but 
feel  flattered,  though  the  situation  is  a  little  awkward. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so?"  she  says,  with  a  rather  em- 
barrassed smile.  "  Are  you  thinking  how  much  plainer  I  am 
than  the  very  flattering  picture  I  was  vain  enough  to  send 
you?" 

There  is  a  dash  of  coquetry  in  Mrs.  Stratheden's  little 
speech,  for  no  one  could  mistake  the  admiration  of  which 
Leo's  eyes  are  eloquent. 

"  Flattering !"  he  echoes.  "  How  could  any  picture  flatter 
you?  A  picture,  whose  eyes  never  change,  and  whose  lips 
are  dumb !" 

Olga  laughs :  there  is  a  little  ring  of  pleasure  in  her  voice : 
how  can  she  be  a  woman,  and  not  care  to  be  adored  by  a  man 
whom  she  likes?  It  is  the  reciprocal  liking,  though,  that 
makes  pleasure  of  what  without  it  is  but  a  weariness  to  the 
flesh.  The  tenderest  love-speeches  fall  dull  and  tame  on  a 
woman's  ear  if  she  be  indifferent  to  the  man  who  utters  them. 

"  Where  have  you  learnt  to  make  such  gallant^  speeches, 
pray,  sir?"  asks  Olga;  and  Leo  answers, — 

"  Are  they  gallant  ?     My  inspiration  comes  from  you." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Forsyih  enters  the  room ;  nor  is  Leo 
alone  again  with  Mrs.  Stratheden  once  that  evening.  It  is 
not  quite  what  he  had  hoped  for,  but  still  it  is  delightful.  Of 
the  play  he  sees  and  hears  nothing :  he  sits  a  little  behind 
Olga's  chair  in  the  box,  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  her. 
The  back  of  a  small  Greek  head,  the  charming  mique,  the 
little  ear  in  which  a  diamond  glistens  like  a  dewdrop, — these 
things  give  a  lover  far  more  delight  than  the  finest  play  ever 
put  upon  a  stage. 

i  17 


194  MIGNON. 

"  1  want  you  to  help  me  choose  a  horse  to-morrow,"  says 
Mrs.  Stratheden,  as  Leo  puts  her  into  the  brougham.  "  Come 
for  me  at  three,  and  we  will  go  round  and  see  if  we  can  find 
anything  to  suit.  And  you  will  dine  with  us  quietly  at  seven 
afterwards,  won't  you?" 

It  is  a  bright,  clear  October  night,  and,  when  the  brougham 
has  driven  off,  Leo  stands  for  a  moment  hesitating  as  to  what 
he  shall  do.  There  is  a  delightful  tumult  in  his  brain :  he 
wants  to  reduce  the  sweet  confusion  to  order,  that  he  may 
think.  He  neither  feels  inclined  for  the  club  nor  for  bed  :  so 
he  strolls  along  until  he  gets  to  Piccadilly,  and  then,  uncon- 
sciously quickening  his  pace,  proceeds  onwards  in  a  straight 
line.  So  intent  are  his  thoughts  that  when  at  last  he  is  re- 
minded of  the  fact  that  patent-leather  shoes  are  not  as  com- 
fortable for  a  constitutional  as  shooting-boots,  he  is  well  on  his 
way  to  Hammersmith.  A  hansom  is  coming  along,  and  he 
jumps  into  it,  and  drives  back  to  his  hotel.  He  goes  to  bed, 
and  dreams  that  Olga  has  written  to  say  she  will  never  see  him 
again.  He  wakes  in  horrible  agitation,  succeeded  by  a  de- 
lightful consciousness  that  it  was  a  delusion  and  that  in  a  few 
hours  he  will  be  with  her.  It  is  almost  worth  while  having  a 
bad  dream  for  the  delight  of  the  awakening. 

The  afternoon  is  spent  in  selecting  the  horse  of  which  Mrs. 
Strathedeu  is  or  fancies  herself  in  want. 

"  What  shall  we  do  this  evening?"  she  asks  Leo.  "  Shall 
we  go  to  another  theatre  ?"  Seeing  how  his  face  falls,  she  adds, 
"  Or  shall  we  spend  a  quiet  evening  at  home  ?" 

"/should  like  that  very  much  better,"  he  answers;  "but 
will  it  bore  you-?" 

"  Not  .very  much,"  says  Olga,  smiling.  "  Saiis  adieu"  as 
the  carriage  stops  at  Leo's  hotel. 

Mrs.  Forsyth  has  for  many  years  indulged  a  habit,  both 
agreeable  to  herself  and  to  Mrs.  Stratheden's  friends,  of  retiring 
after  dinner  to  take  a  nap.  This  habit,  begun  from  a  complai- 
sant idea  of  excusing  an  absence  that  might  otherwise  offend 
Olga's  delicacy  by  looking  pointed,  had  ended  in  becoming  a 
gratification  which  it  was  very  unpleasant  to  forego.  Bat  Mrs. 
Forsyth  had  conceived  a  great  jealousy  of  Leo,  and  was  reluct- 
ant to  give  him  the  opportunity  of  being  alone  with  Olga :  so 
she  departed  so  far  from  her  usual  custom  and  tact  as  to  say, 
whilst  they  were  awaiting  his  arrival  before  dinner, — 


MIGNON.  195 

"  Shall  I  take  my  nap  as  usual  this  evening?" 

Now,  Olga  quite  saw  through  the  question,  and  felt  a  shade 
vexed  with  her  friend  for  putting  it.  She  felt  more  vexed 
still  with  herself  for  the  faint  blush  that  overspread  her  face, 
and,  turning  to  arrange  some  flowers  in  one  of  the  vases, 
answered, — 

"  Do  whatever  is  most  agreeable  to  yourself,  ma  chere." 

"  That  will  be  to  take  my  nap,"  Mrs.  Forsyth  answered, 
promptly,  hastening  like  a  skilful  general  to  repair  her  error. 
But  she  could  not  refrain  from  a  Parthian  shaft.  "  I  was 
afraid  you  might  be  a  little  bored.  Boys  are  rather  heavy  to 
entertain." 

"  I  think  Mr.  Vyner  has  got  beyond  the  awkward  stage  of 
boyhood,"  answered  Olga,  with  some  coldness. 

"  And  I  think  whatever  you  think,  my  love,"  said  Mrs. 
Forsyth,  cheerfully.  "  I  know  you  are  so  thoughtful  that  you 
would  rather  run  the  risk  of  being  a  little  bored  than  of  inter- 
fering with  my  indulgence." 

Here  Leo's  arrival  put  a  stop  to  further  discussion.  He  had 
not  intended  to  say  a  word  to  Olga  about  his  plans  for  the 
future,  nor  even  to  hint  at  his  chance  of  a  seat  in  Parliament ; 
but,  once  alone  with  her,  the  charm  of  her  presence,  her  mag- 
netic power  over  him,  made  his  intentions  melt  into  thin  air, 
and  he  poured  out  all  his  thoughts  to  her. 

As  she  listened,  a  feeling  of  surprise  and  pleasure  stole  into 
her  heart.  She  loved  dearly  to  have  power  and  influence,  and 
she  loved  to  use  it  for  good.  That  she  should  have  stirred  up 
the  dormant  vigor  of  a  mind  so  manly  and  yet  so  gentle  and 
sensitive  as  Leo's,  gave  her  keen  pleasure.  As  she  listened  to 
him,  she  felt  capable  both  of  loving  and  respecting  him  :  a  pang 
shot  through  her  heart  as  the  remembrance  of  the  difference 
between  their  ages  forced  itself  upon  her.  All  her  life,  Olga 
had  had  thoughts  of  doing  active  good  in  the  world :  that  the 
thoughts  had  not  been  unfruitful,  her  bounty  to  all  around 
her,  and  her  large  unostentatious  charities,  afforded  ample 
proof.  But  the  mere  giving  of  money  and  food  did  not  satisfy 
her :  there  is  so  much  more  to  be  done  in  the  world  than  to 
give  mere  temporary  relief,  she  thought.  For  years  it  had 
been  the  desire  of  her  heart  to  find  a  man  who  shared  her 
opinions  and  had  energy  to  carry  them  out.  How  often 
had  she  diffidently  imparted  her  views  to  her  lovers  and 


196  MIGNON. 

been  reasoned  with,  smiled  at,  or  not  understood !  This  want 
of  sympathy  with  her  cherished  ideas  had,  more  than  anything, 
militated  against  their  success.  And  here  at  last,  but  too  late, 
was  one  after  her  own  heart,  one  whose  chief  charm  was  that 
his  thoughts  were  hers  because  she  had  inspired  them.  She  did 
not  pause  to  reflect  that  the  sympathy  towards  the  rest  of  man- 
kind which  his  love  for  her  had  bred  might  die  away  as  it  had 
sprung  up ;  nor  that  theories  which  seem  very  noble  and  stir- 
ring to  youth  fade  away  before  the  harsh  lessons  of  practical 
experiment :  she  looked  at  the  fire  in  his  eyes,  listened  to  the 
enthusiasm  in  his  voice,  and  believed  in  him.  It  was  part  of 
Olga's  nature  to  put  implicit  faith  in  those  she  cared  for.  And 
indeed  it  would  have  been  difficult  for  any  one  to  look  at  Leo's 
ardent  face  and  doubt  that,  whatever  difficulties  the  future 
might  throw  in  his  way,  his  intentions  were  thoroughly  sincere. 

"  And  what  have  you  determined  about  going  abroad  ?" 
Olga  asked,  at  the  close  of  a  very  exhaustive  discussion  of  his 
plans. 

"  I  must  try  to  get  my  father  used  to  the  idea  by  degrees. 
But  I  hate  to  give  him  pain.  And  yet  how  is  a  man  who 
has  seen  nothing  of  the  world  to  feel  and  speak  with  authority 
on  questions  of  universal  importance  to  mankind  ?  I  don't 
believe  all  the  books  that  were  ever  written  could  do  half  for 
getting  one  out  of  one's  narrow-mindedness  and  prejudice  that 
six  months'  travel  in  fresh  places  and  among  fresh  people  with 
one's  eyes  open  would  do." 

Looking  at  him,  Olga  for  the  moment  felt  a  strong  sympa- 
thy with  his  father's  reluctance  to  part  from  him  ;  and  yet 
had  she  not  herself  suggested  the  idea  of  his  travelling? 

"  It  is  better  that  he  should  go,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
felt  a  strange  tenderness  for  him  creeping  into  her  heart. 

She  rose,  a  little  abruptly  for  her,  and  walked  towards  the 
piano. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  she  said,  with  an  imperious  ges- 
ture, as  he  was  about  to  follow  her.  "  I  am  going  to  sing  to 
you." 

And  Olga  sang  in  her  sweet  pathetic  voice,  songs  that  were 
nil  sad  and  plaintive,  and  Leo  listened  till  his  pleasure  turned  to 
intense  pain.  Ambition,  hope  of  the  future,  all  faded  into 
despair :  how  could  he  live  life  through  without  this  woman, 
whose  presence  had  become  the  only  joy  he  knew  ? 


MIGNON.  197 

The  voice  he  loves  ceases.  Olga  rises,  and  gently  closes  the 
piano.  Leo  is  so  still,  she  almost  fancies  he  has  gone  to  sleep. 
Then  suddenly  he  gets  up,  and,  coming  towards  her  with  a 
face  so  haggard  and  miserable  it  shocks  her,  he  says, — 

"  How  shall  I  live  my  life  without  you  ?  Oh,  Olga  !  have 
pity  upon  me  1" 

She  has  sunk  down  on  a  chair,  and  he  kneels  at  her  feet. 
He  is  very  young,  very  unworldly  wise  ;  he  does  not  know 
the  gentle,  easy  familiarity  with  which  men  of  fashion  woo, 
nor  if  he  did  would  he  essay  to  copy  it :  he  knows  nothing 
but  that  his  heart  is  torn  with  agony  at  the  thought  of  losing, 
of  being  parted  from  Olga. 

"  I  have  tried  to  fill  my  head  with  other  thoughts  ;  I  have 
imagined  that  work  and  ambition  could  satisfy  me ;  but  it  is 
all  a  hollow  sham :  nothing  but  you  can  satisfy  me  ;  there  is 
no  room  in  my  heart  for  anything  but  you.  I  have  boasted 
like  a  vain  fool  to  you  of  the  great  things  I  would  do,  and 
you,  if  you  were  not  so  good  and  pitiful,  would  have  laughed 
me  to  scorn  for  it :  you  know  that  I  am  a  mere  puppet  in 
your  hands,  to  do  and  think  what  you  choose.  Oh,  if  there 
were  only  not  the  gulf  between  us  that  there  is !  if  you  were 
poor,  and  I  could  work  and  toil  for  you,  and  win  my  way  to 
something  that  would  make  me  more  worthy  of  you !  but  to 
feel  that  you  stand  so  immeasurably  far  above  me,  so  hope- 
lessly out  of  reach  of  me,  breaks  my  heart." 

Olga's  mouth  quivers ;  there  are  unshed  tears  in  her  dark 
eyes :  a  dozen  contradictory  emotions  are  passing  through  her 
breast.  If  love  like  this  could  last ! — if  it  could  only  last ! 
and  then  she  remembers  the  story  of  "  La  Femme  abandon- 
nee."  Gaston  was  as  impassioned  as  this ;  thousands  of  men 
have  felt  what  Leo  feels,  and  have  wearied  of  their  love  once 
attained,  and  marvelled  at  and  cursed  it  in  after-years. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,  Leo,"  she  says,  softly.  "  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you."  And  he  obeys  her.  She  gives  her 
cool  white  hand  into  his  fevered  clasp,  and  speaks  soothingly 
to  him,  as  a  mother  might  to  an  unreasonable  child  whom 
she  loves  too  well  to  chide.  "  You  will  not  believe  me, — you 
will  be  angry  with  me, — but  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  truth. 
If  there  were  no  greater  obstacle  between  us  than  those  you 
name,  if  only  my  wealth  and  those  other  charms  which  you 
flatter  me  that  I  possess  stood  between  us,  and  I"  (pausing) 

17* 


198  MIGNON. 

"  loved  you,  they  would  go  for  nothing  with  me.  I  think  the 
greatest  pleasure  iu  life  is  to  give  to  those  you  love  ;  and  no 
Misfit-ion  could  ever  enter  my  heart  of  the  sincerity  of  the 
love  of  one  whom  I  loved  in  return." 

Leo  hangs  breathless  on  her  words :  the  first  gleam  of  hope 
Invuks  through  the  night  of  his  despair. 

"  There  is  a  much  greater  obstacle  than  any  of  which  you 
know,"  Olga  continues,  with  a  slight  quiver  in  her  voice. 
"  Even  when  I  tell  you,  you  will  deny  it,  and  fight  against  it, 
but  it  is  there  all  the  same,  and  it  is  so  great  a  one  that  it 
would  hinder  me  from  giving  you  hope,  even  if  I  loved  you." 

She  is  so  careful  not  to  say  she  does,  for  then  she  knows 
all  her  arguments  would  be  blown  away  like  chaff  before  the 
wind.  Leo  is  silent,  but  his  eyes  question  hers. 

"  You  are  three-and-twenty,  and  I  am  twenty-nine :  there 
is  six  years  difference  between  us, — an  overwhelming  difference, 
when  the  age  is  on  the  woman's  side.  Don't  interrupt  me  1 
It  is  j  ust  as  natural  to  you  now  to  prefer  a  woman  older  than 
yourself  as  ten  or  fifteen  years  hence  it  will  be  to  seek  one 
who  is  young  and  fresh.  Now  you  like  a  woman  of  the 
world ;  she  puts  you  at  your  ease,  makes  you  at  home  with 
yourself,  entertains  and  surprises  you  with  the  knowledge  that 
experience  has  taught  her.  In  after-life  the  reverse  of  all 
these  things  will  recommend  itself  to  you.  When  you  are 
five-and- thirty,  in  the  very  prime  of  manhood,  I  shall  be  past 
forty,  that  horrible  period  of  a  woman's  life  when  she  is  not 
too  old  still  to  have  the  desire  for  love,  and  yet  has  the  agony 
of  feeling  she  can  no  longer  inspire  it.  It  is  different  from  a 
woman  who  has  married  young, — her  children  are  grown  or 
growing  up,  her  husband  has  aged  with  her ;  but  picture  to 
yourself  the  case  of  a  woman  intensely  conscious  of  being 
faded  and  passte,  struggling  to  keep  alive  in  the  man  she 
adores  the  love  that  is  the  essence  of  her  life,  and  knowing 
that  the  task  is  impossible,  and  that  by  her  efforts,  her  anxiety, 
she  is  casting  the  last  planks  away  from  her.  She  becomes  jeal- 
ous, tyrannical ;  she  hates  all  women  younger  and  fairer  than 
herself;  she  is  ill-tempered  and  exacting  with  the  man  whose 
love  is  the  only  thing  on  earth  she  desires,  and  knows  not 
whether  to  hate  him  or  herself  most." 

Olga  has  dropped  her  cool  reasoning  tone,  and  speaks  with 
a  vehemence  quite  foreign  from  her  habit.  Seeing  the  look 


MIGNON.  199 

of  utter  wonder  in  Leo's  eyes,  she  breaks  off,  and,  forcing  a 
smile,  says, — 

"  I  have  bewildered  you.  Was  I  looking  like  a  second 
Medea  ?  You  wonder  how  I  know  these  things, — I  who  am 
not  yet  forty,  and  have  not  had  any  experience  like  that  I  de- 
scribe. But  I  have  a  lively  imagination  :  there  are  very  few 
things  I  cannot  picture  to  myself,  and  /  know  my  intuitions 
are  correct." 

"  Yes,"  answers  Leo,  looking  intently  at  her  with  his  frank 
blue  eyes,  "  you  have  bewildered  and  astonished  me.  Shall  I 
tell  you  why  ?  1^.  is  to  think  that  you  should  know  yourself 
so  little  as  to  imagine  that  a  man  who  had  once  cared  for  you 
could  ever  have  a  thought  of  any  other  woman.  If  you  were 
to  lose  your  beauty,  which  I  don't  think  you  ever  will,  because 
it  lies  so  much  in  your  expression,  you  would  only  lose  a  tithe 
of  your  charm.  When  you  are  sixty  you  will  have  just  the 
same  sweet  gracious  ways  that  make  one  love  you  now,  and,  if 
it  were  possible,  you  will  be  still  more  clever  and  delightful." 

Olga  smiles,  but  there  is  more  of  sadness  than  mirth  in  her 
smile. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  she  says,  laying  a  caressing  hand  on  the 
young  fellow's  arm,  "you  think  so  now,  and  I  know  you 
are  wrong.  Do  you  imagine,  though,  it  would  be  any  con- 
solation to  me  to  hear  you  confess  later  that  I  was  right? 
If  I  reproached  you  with  broken  promises,  you  would  have  a 
right  to  turn  upon  me  and  say,  l  But  you  knew  exactly  what 
must  happen :  you  warned  me  of  it  yourself  Have  you  ever 
been  in  love  before,  Leo  ?" 

"  Never,"  he  answers,  emphatically. 

"  Well,  but  at  all  events  you  have  read  love-stories :  you 
have  heard  of  men  ready  to  do  anything  in  the  world  to  win  a 
woman,  who,  when  they  had  won  her,  did  not  always  remain 
faithful  to  her  ?" 

"  They  were  not  women  like  you,"  answers  Leo,  loyally. 

"  My  poor  boy,"  says  Olga,  pityingly,  "  you  are  very  much 
infatuated." 

"  I  may  be  a  fool,"  he  answers,  eagerly,  "  but  you  would 
find  me  a  faithful  one." 

Olga  pauses  for  a  minute. 

"  As  I  told  you  just  now,"  she  says,  presently, — "  I  am  twenty- 
nine  years  old.  You  will  suppose  that  in  all  these  years  I  have 


200  MIGNON. 

heard  some  declarations  of  love :  don't  frown !"  (laughing). 
"  Ah,  Leo,  you  are  like  the  rest  of  your  sex :  you  try  to  per- 
suade a  woman  she  is  something  more  than  mortal,  and  yet  you 
are  disposed  to  quarrel  with  any  other  man  who  presumes  to 
bear  the  same  opinion.  Why,  my  dear,  when  you  were  quite 
a  child,  I  was  a  grown-up  young  lady,  being  flattered  and 
spoiled  and  having  my  head  turned.  Well,  since  then  I  have 
been  told  several  times  every  year  by  men  that  they  could  not 
possibly  live  without  me." 

Olga  does  not  mean  to  be  cruel :  she  fancies  she  is  wound- 
ing herself  so  much  by  her  confessions  that  Leo  can  have  no 
right  to  be  hurt.  But  he  is  suffering  acutely.  "  And  yet," 
she  proceeds,  with  a  shade  of  scorn,  "  they  have  lived  without 
me :  several  have  married,  and  are,  I  believe,  devoted  to  their 
wives ;  and  no  one  that  I  know  of  is  going  about  with  a  broken 
heart  for  my  sake." 

"  Try  me,"  murmurs  Leo,  "  try  me." 

Mrs.  Stratheden  smiles. 

"  That  is  the  worst  of  it.  I  cannot  try  you.  If  I  made  the 
experiment,  I  should  have  to  abide  by  you,  and  you  by  me : 
I  could  not  return  you  as  unsatisfactory." 

Leo  knows  no  longer  how  to  plead :  she  is  in  a  vein  half 
jesting,  half  bitter.  What  shall  he  say  to  her  ?  If  she  had 
been  angry  at  his  presumption,  he  could  have  sued  for  forgive- 
ness ;  but  he  is  too  ignorant  of  the  world  to  know  how  to  treat 
her  present  mood. 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  of  this  any  more,"  she  says,  rising,  and 
walking  away  from  him  ;  then,  returning  and  laying  her  hand 
gently  on  his  shoulder,  "  Every  man  has  to  go  through  the 
same  thing, — nearly  every  man,  at  least :  it  is  like  cutting  his 
teeth  or  having  the  measles"  (laughing). 

Then  suddenly  she  changes  from  gay  to  grave. 

"  Don't  think  me  heartless,  Leo,"  and  the  tears  shine  in 
her  beautiful  eyes  ;  "  don't  think  I  do  not  value  your  love.  I 
know  it  is  true  and  honest,  and  I  believe  you  would  be  faith- 
ful (as  far  as  any  man  can  be)  ;  but  it  is  impossible.  I  will 
be  your  best  friend,  if  you  will  have  me.  Love  me  if  you  will, 
but  do  not  make  your  love  a  pain.  Your  wife"  (smiling  through 
tours),  "  your  wife  is  a  little  girl  in  a  pinafore  now  :  when  you 
marry  her  I  shall  be  a  nice  gray-haired  old  lady." 

"  My  wife,"  said  Leo,  huskily,  coming  a  step  nearer  and 


MIGNON.  201 

looking  down  into  her  eyes  with  a  strange,  bitter  expression, 
"  my  wife  is  here,  or  nowhere :  no  other  will  ever  be  born  for 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  Lo,  the  summer  is  dead,  the  sun  is  faded; 
Even  like  as  a  leaf  the  year  is  withered, 
All  the  fruits  of  the  day  from  all  her  branches 
Gathered,  neither  is  any  left  to  gather. 
All  the  flowers  are  dead,  the  tender  blossoms, 
All  are  taken  away ;  the  season  wasted, 
Like  an  ember  among  the  fallen  ashes." 

SWINBURNE. 

So,  after  all,  this  visit  that  Leo  had  looked  forward  to  as 
the  opening  of  the  gates  of  paradise  did  him  no  good.  On 
the  contrary,  it  did  him  an  immense  deal  of  harm,  for  it 
scattered  all  the  ideas  that  hard  reading  had  put  into  his  brain, 
and  immeasurably  decreased  his  sympathy  for  the  bodily  woes 
of  others,  since  he  began  to  feel  that  any  corporeal  pain  would 
be  pleasure  compared  with  the  agony  he  suffered  in  his  mind. 
An  older  man,  a  man  with  more  experience  of  women,  would 
not  have  been  plunged  into  despair  by  Olga's  words :  on  the 
contrary,  they  would  have  given  him  food  for  hope.  But  it 
was  otherwise  with  Leo :  he  only  saw  in  them  the  delicacy 
which  made  her,  instead  of  chiding  his  presumption,  rather 
place  the  difficulties  on  his  side  than  on  hers.  "  Si  jeunesse 
savait."  It  is  an  excellent  thing,  however,  when  youth  does 
not  know,  and  is  filled  with  doubts  and  fears  instead  of  with 
undue  confidence.  Leo  grew  pale  and  thin  (this  stalwart  young 
fellow,  who,  twelve  months  ago,  would  have  ridiculed  the  idea 
of  anything  but  sheer  illness  taking  the  zest  out  of  sport)  :  he 
rode  hard, — not  recklessly,  for  he  was  too  manly,  too  full  of 
vitality,  to  wish  to  shake  life  off  because  just  now  it  was  pain 
to  him  instead  of  pleasure ;  he  tried  to  study,  but  found  it 
impossible :  the  only  thing  that  soothed  him  was  fresh  air  and 
exercise.  His  usually  vigorous  appetite  failed,  and  he  smoked 
more  than  was  good  for  him.  All  this  time  his  father  was 


202  MIONON. 

watching  him  narrowly,  and  cursing  in  his  heart  the  woman 
•who  had  brought  his  boy  to  this  miserable  pass.  If  curses 
had  any  effect  on  the  cursed,  poor  Olga  would  have  probably 
pined  away  and  died  under  the  old  man's  savage  anathemas; 
but  from  her  occasional  letters  to  Leo  it  appeared  that  she 
enjoyed  her  usual  health,  which,  however,  was  not  at  the  best 
of  times  robust. 

Mr.  Vyner  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not  seem 
to  notice  the  change  in  his  son  :  if  he  did,  he  felt  there  would 
be  a  loop-hole  for  Leo  to  bring  forward  the  subject  of  his 
travels,  the  direst  misfortune  that  could  befall.  And  poor 
Leo  did  not  go  moping  about  and  looking  injured,  but  tried 
very  hard  to  be  bright  and  cheery,  and  to  enter  into  all  the 
topics  which  interested  his  father,  and  had  done  himself  until 
recently.  •  The  winter  passed ;  all  sport  was  over :  it  was 
then  the  father  began  to  feel  that  something  must  be  done, 
even  if  it  involved  the  sacrifice  of  his  pet  prejudices.  And 
so  one  night  he  said,  with  an  abrupt  resolution  which,  from 
the  pain  it  caused  him,  held  more  real  pathos  than  a  long  and 
touching  speech  could  have  done, — 

"  This  sort  of  thing  won't  do,  my  boy.  Send  for  Bradshaw, 
pack  up  your  traps,  and  set  off  on  your  travels  as  soon  as  you 
like." 

Leo  looked  up  quickly,  heard  the  tremulous  falter  in  the 
strong  voice,  saw  the  quiver  in  the  muscles  of  the  firm  mouth, 
and  the  dimness  in  the  kind  eyes. 

"  No,  no,  dad,"  he  answers,  gently ;  "  we  won't  talk  about 
my  travels  :  you  know  I  am  going  into  Parliament  instead." 

lie  sighed  wearily,  unconscious  that  he  did  so, — it  had 
become  such  a  habit  of  late.  When  Mr.  Vyner  was  deeply 
moved,  he  was  wont  to  assume  a  choleric  air.  But  Leo  was 
in  the  secret  of  this. 

"  Well,  what  the  devil  are  you  going  to  do?  Do  you  think 
it's  manly,  sir,  to  go  puling  and  pining  about  like  a  miss  in 
her  teens  in  love  with  the  curate  ?  There  used  to  be  a  good 
old  song  in  vogue  in  my  time, — 

'  If  ghe  be  not  fafe  for  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be?' 

and  any  man  who  had  a  particle  of  pluck  or  self-respect  used 
to  be  of  the  same  opinion.  Is  there  only  one  woman  in  the 


MIGNON.  203 

world,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Stuff  and  humbug !  Don't  stop 
shilly-shallying  here  !  go  and  look  about  you.  A  strapping  fellow 
like  you  isn't  likely  to  have  to  wait  long  for  a  woman's  smiles. 
Let  this  paragon  of  yours  see  you  have  eyes  for  somebody 
beside  herself:  it  will  do  more  to  bring  her  to  her  bearings  than 
all  the  whining  and  whimpering  in  the  world." 

"  I  did  not  know  I  wore  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve,"  Leo 
answered,  with  some  dignity.  "  Have  I  complained  or  bored 
you  with  my  lamentations  because  I  cannot  have  the  woman 
Hove?" 

"  Love!  pshaw!"  cried  Mr.  Vyner,  with  much  the  accent 
of  disgust  he  might  have  given  vent  to  if  any  one  had  put  a 
basket  of  stale  fish  in  close  proximity  to  him.  "  Love  !  My 
good  fellow,  if  you  could  but  have  six  months  of  this  wonderful 
creature,  I'll  be  bound  at  the  end  of  it  we  shouldn't  hear  much 
more  about  your  love.  No !"  (replying  to  the  first  part  of 
Leo's  speech),  "  I  did  not  say  you  had  bored  me  with  your 
lamentations.  I  would  rather  you  had :  it  does  people  good 
to  talk  about  their  woes.  It  is  your  long  miserable  face,  and 
your  fits  of  silence,  that  tell  me  what  is  going  on  in  your  mind. 
And,  as  I  said  before,  if  your  good  sense  or  your  pride  can't 
do  anything  for  you,  why,  in  heaven's  name,  go  and  travel, 
and  get  drowned,  or  shot,  or  put  out  of  your  misery  somehow  !" 

"  I  wish,  sir,"  said  Leo,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "  you 
would  try  and  divest  your  mind  of  the  idea  that  some  dreadful 
fate  must  necessarily  overtake  a  man  who  goes  for  a  six  months' 
trip  abroad." 

"  And  I  wish,"  retorted  his  father,  "  that  you  would  divest 
your  mind  of  the  idea  that  junketing  about  to  a  lot  of  infernal 
uncivilized  places  is  a  better  cure  for  the  heart-ache  than  a 
few  grains  of  resolution  and  common  sense.  However,  I've 
said  my  say :  go,  and  for  God's  sake,  if  you  do  come  back, 
come  back  a  little  more  like  the  man  you  were  ten  months  ago." 

And  Mr.  Vyner,  being  greatly  moved,  and  equally  averse 
from  betraying  himself,  went  out,  and  banged  the  door  with  a 
violence  that  made  everything  in  the  room  tremble. 

"  It  is  the  only  thing  for  me,"  mused  Leo ;  "  and  yet  how 
can  I  leave  the  dear  old  fello\^when  I  know  what  pain  and 
grief  it  will  be  to  him  !" 

So  the  subject  was  left,  for  the  time  being,  in  abeyance,  and 
Leo  proposed  going  to  spend  a  month  or  two  in  town.  It  might 


204  MIONON. 

be  poison  to  him  to  be  so  near  Olga,  to  see  her  often,  but  the  poison 
would  be  sweet,  and  he  could  not  go  on  eating  his  heart  out  at 
home  with  nothing  to  do.  It  was  not  that  he  had  given  up 
his  studies,  nor  his  ambition,  nor  his  desire  of  doing  good  in 
the  world  ;  but,  in  the  unsettled  state  of  his  mind,  he  could 
not  bring  that  concentration  to  bear  upon  them  that  he  knew 
was  absolutely  necessary. 

"  After  I  have  seen  her  again,"  he  argued  to  himself,  "  I 
shall  be  better.  I  will  conquer  this  morbid  restlessness." 

Poor  lad !  he  did  not  guess  what  new  pangs  were  in  store 
for  him. 

Mrs.  Stratheden  was  in  town :  he  saw  her  frequently,  but, 
whether  by  accident  or  design,  never  alone.  And  almost 
whenever  he  saw  her  the  same  man  was  with  her,  paying  her 
marked  attention,  which  it  was  evident  she  permitted,  whether 
she  encouraged  it  or  not.  This  man  was  Lord  Harley.  He 
was  about  forty,  clever,  distinguished-looking,  had  travelled 
a  good  deal,  and  had  met  Olga  at  a  country-house  in  the 
winter.  He  had  decided  at  once  that  she  was  the  woman  of 
all  others  to  suit  him :  he  had  a  great  admiration  and  respect 
for  her,  believed  thoroughly  in  the  power  of  his  own  will,  and 
was  fully  determined  that  she  should  be  Lady  Harley. 

And  Olga  for  various  reasons  was  content  to  receive  his 
attentions.  In  the  first  place,  his  conversation  amused  and 
interested  her ;  in  the  second,  he  was  so  highly  thought  of  in 
the  world  that  his  homage  could  not  fail  to  flatter  her;  and  in 
the  third,  she  was  furious  with  herself  for  allowing  Leo  to  get 
so  large  a  hold  upon  her  thoughts  and  imagination,  and  was 
determined,  cotite  que  cotite,  to  shake  off  his  influence.  And 
yet,  despite  her  efforts  and  resolutions,  the  more  she  saw  of 
Lord  Harley  the  more  enamored  she  became  of  Leo.  The 
contrast  between  the  boy's  passionate  enthusiasm  and  the 
man's  grave  self-possession  struck  her  with  a  chill  in  Lord 
Harley's  presence.  The  man's  wooing  made  her  feel  weary 
and  world-worn,  as  though  the  fires  of  youth  had  smouldered 
into  ashes ;  Leo's  ardor,  his  devotion,  his  very  misery,  awakened 
a  keen  response  in  her,  and  stirred  the  pulses  of  the  heart  she 
had  chosen  to  consider  cold  and  dead. 

So  much  the  more  determined  was  she  not  to  yield  to  the 
folly  of  which  she  had  predicted  the  ending.  To  make  her- 
self stronger,  she  would  frequently  bring  up  in  society  the 


MIGNON.  205 

subject  of  women  marrying  men  younger  than  themselves. 
She  never  heard  but  one  opinion,  and  that  coincided  with  her 
own.  What  can  you  expect  ?  If  a  woman  commits  such  a 
piece  of  folly,  she  does  it  with  her  eyes  open,  and  thoroughly 
deserves  all  she  is  sure  to  get.  A  woman  has  no  right  to  take 
advantage  of  a  boy's  infatuation  ;  "  it  is  cruelty  to  him  !"  said 
some  one  ;  and  this  remark  rankled  horribly  in  Olga's  mind. 

"  Would  it  be  cruel,"  she  said  to  herself,  in  passionate  con- 
tradiction of  this  last  verdict,  "  when  I  can  give  him  so  much? 
— when  I  can  make  his  future  what  he  dreams  it,  and  gratify 
his  ambition  and  love,  and  help  him  to  a  name  in  the  world, 
all  at  once  ?" 

"And  when  you  have  done  all  this,"  answered  another 
voice  in  her  heart,  "  he  will  be  weary  of  you"  (there  is  no 
burden  on  love  so  heavy  as  enforced  gratitude),  "  and  some 
other  woman  will  reap  the  fruit  of  your  sacrifices." 

"And  what  can  this  boy  do  for  you?"  said  Reason.  "  He 
can  add  nothing  to  your  position  or  importance  :  on  the  con- 
trary, he  will  draw  down  upon  you  the  world's  censure  and 
ridicule ;  whereas  a  marriage  with  Lord  Harley  would  be  suit- 
able and  desirable  in  every  respect:  it  would  have  the  ap- 
proval of  your  own  common  sense  and  of  the  world  at  large." 

Why  marry  at  all  ?  But  Olga  had  grown  tired  of  the  lone- 
liness of  her  life,  and  felt  a  positive  necessity  for  changing  it. 
She  would  have  liked  to  keep  Leo  away :  it  went  to  her  heart 
to  see  how  he  suffered  from  his  jealousy  of  Lord  Harley,  and 
how  manfully  he  struggled  to  conceal  it. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Stratheden,"  said  Lord  Harley,  one 
day,  in  the  low,  well-bred  tone  that  was  habitual  to  him,  "  I 
always  gave  you  credit  for  being  free  from  the  cruelties  of 
your  sex  ?" 

"  And  what  has  happened  to  convince  you  of  your  error  ?" 
asked  Olga,  smiling. 

"  Young  Vyner.  Poor  lad !  I  feel  quite  sorry  for  him. 
You  must  see  how  devoted  he  is  to  you,  and  how  dreadfully 
he  suffers  from  seeing  any  one  else  approach  you.  Don't  you 
think  it  would  be  kinder  to  put  him  out  of  his  misery  at  once 
than  to  keep  him  hanging  about  in  his  present  state  of  mind  ?" 

Olga's  face  is  dyed  with  blushes.  She  feels  confused,  exas- 
perated, in  one.  The  low,  calm  tones  of  Lord  Harley's  voice, 
and  the  clear  indication  in  them  of  the  security  he  feels  in  his 

18 


20G  MIGNON. 

own  position  and  the  hopelessness  of  Leo's,  jar  upon  her  in- 
expressibly. For  a  moment  she  feels  tempted  to  retort,  "  I 
have  given  my  whole  heart  to  that  poor  lad,  and  am  capable 
of  committing  the  greatest  folly  for  his  sake  ;"  but  prudence 
restrains  her :  she  would  not  care  to  meet  the  incredulous 
smile,  the  politely  restrained  scorn,  that  would  greet  such  a 
confession  on  her  part.  Besides,  has  she  not  resolved  that  she 
and  Leo  shall  never  be  more  to  each  other  than  they  are  now  ? 
So  she  merely  said,  with  assumed  carelessness, — 

"  Do  you  really  think  he  is  in  love  with  me  ?" 

"  I  see  you  are  a  very  woman,"  remarked  Lord  Harley,  and 
smiled.  "After  all,  how  could  anything  be  perfect  unless  it 
possessed  all  the  attributes  natural  to  it?" 

"  And  the  attributes  with  which  you  endow  me  at  the 
present  moment  are  cruelty  and  hypocrisy,  are  they  not?" 
asked  Olga. 

"  Do  not  put  it  so  harshly.  But,  if  you  pretend  to  ignore 
that  poor  young  fellow's  devotion,  I  must  at  least  think  your 
modesty  makes  you  insincere." 

"  He  will  soon  be  cured  of  it,"  remarked  Olga,  hoping  to  be 
contradicted ;  but  Lord  Harley  bowed  assent. 

"  But  it  is  very  bitter  whilst  it  lasts." 

"  Whilst  it  lasts  !  whilst  it  lasts  !"  repeated  Olga,  in  a  low, 
scornful  tone.  "  Pray,  Lord  Harley,  does  a  man's  love  ever 
last?  and  if  so,  what  is  the  longest  term  of  its  duration  ?" 

"  I  think  a  man's  love  is  capable  of  lasting  his  life,  when 
he  forms  it  after  arriving  at  mature  age,  and  it  is  not  merely 
an  ephemeral  passion,  but  a  sentiment  approved  by  his  judg- 
ment," replied  Lord  Harley,  looking  at  Olga  with  an  expres- 
sion which  indicated  that  he  himself  illustrated  the  truth  of 
what  he  affirmed. 

"  I  don't  call  that  love,"  uttered  Olga, — "  the  calm,  calcula- 
ting feeling  that  says,  '  This  woman  suits  me,  I  will  make  her 
my  wife.'  In  love  there  must  be  passion,  fervor,  doubt." 
And  she  raises  eloquent  eyes  to  his  face,  not  thinking  of 
him  at  all,  nor  how  he  may  interpret  her  words.  How  he 
does  interpret  them  is  evident  the  next  moment. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  says,  taking  her  hand  quickly,  "  that 
any  man  who  loved  you  would  be  lacking  either  in  passion  or 
fervor  if  you  gave  him  the  right  to  feel  it?" 

A  horrible  feeling  of  repulsion  comes  over  Olga.     She,  the 


MIGNON.  207 

self-possessed,  dignified  woman  of  the  world,  starts  up  and  flies 
out  of  the  room,  as  the  veriest  school-girl  might  do  on  a  simi- 
lar occasion.  She  is  burning  with  disgust  and  anger, — anger 
chiefly  against  herself. 

"  Oh,  Leo,  Leo  !  why  are  you  not  ten  years  older  ?"  she 
murmurs. 

Meantime,  Leo  is  undergoing  torments  to  which  his  pre- 
vious sufferings  had  been  as  nothing.  To  think  that  Olga 
could  not  be  his  was  pain  keen  enough ;  to  think  she  might 
be  another's  was  agony  unspeakable.  And  he  could  not  but 
acknowledge  that  in  every  way  Lord  Harley  was  perfectly 
suited  to  her,  and  a  man  calculated  to  inspire  the  respect  and 
affection  of  any  woman.  And,  besides  this,  he  had  every  other 
advantage, — rank,  position,  wealth.  "  If  I  stay  I  shall  go  mad," 
he  said  to  himself  every  day  ;  and  yet  he  felt  it  impossible  to 
go  away  in  doubt.  "  When  it  is  settled,  I  will  go,"  he  deter- 
mined ;  but  he  had  too  much  delicacy  to  ask  any  questions  of 
Olga. 

Raymond  was  in  town,  and  they  often  met.  He  was  in 
love  too.;  but,  as  the  object  of  his  passion  was  not  legitimate, 
he  could  not  very  well  pour  out  his  w.oes  to  his  friend,  and 
Leo  would  on  no  account  have  profaned  his  idol  by  discussing 
her  with  Raymond.  One  day,  at  Little  Bridge,  Leo  was  in- 
troduced to  Lady  Bergholt,  who  received  him  very  graciously. 
She  was  displeased  with  Raymond  for  some  cause  or  other, 
and  revenged  herself  in  her  usual  manner,  by  making  herself 
extremely  agreeable  to  some  one  else.  As  Leo  was  a  fine- 
looking  young  fellow,  well  dressed  and  likely  to  be  a  credit  to 
her,  she  turned  her  attentions  to  him,  insisted  upon  driving 
him  home,  and  invited  him  to  dine  and  go  to  the  Opera  with 
them. 

Mignon  was  one  of  those  people  who  delight  in  being  gra- 
cious to  one  person  at  the  expense  of  another.  On  this  occa- 
sion Raymond  was  the  sufferer  by  her  kindness  to  his  friend. 

"  I  dare  say  Mr.  Vyner  will  relieve  you  of  your  attendance 
upon  us  to-night,  Mr.  L'Estrange,"  she  said,  with  a  sweet  smile, 
the  sweeter  because  she  knew  she  was  tormenting  her  unhappy 
victim.  "  You  were  saying  just  now  it  would  be  so  something 
hot  at  the  Opera — what  was  the  word  you  used  ?  infernally,  I 
think.  You  won't  mind  it  being  infernally  hot,  Mr.  Vyner, 
will  you  ?  and  if  you  do,  you  will  put  up  with  a  little  incon- 


208  MIGNON. 

venicnce  in  a  good  cause?  You  look  good-tempered  ;  not  like 
poor  Mr.  L' Estrange:  he  is  quite  a  martyr  to  his  temper:  so 
are  his  friends." 

All  this  with  rippling,  bewitching  smiles,  which  to  have  re- 
sisted, a  man  must  have  been  more  than  mortal.  Leo  thought 
her  lovely,  and  was  very  well  pleased  to  accept  her  invitation. 
Raymond,  on  the  contrary,  scowled,  and  his  handsome  features 
were  twisted  almost  out  of  their  beauty  by  his  wrath. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Vyner  will  not  only  attend  you  to- 
night, but  accompany  you  home  now,"  he  said,  furiously. 
"  You  seem  so  mutually  charmed,  I  should  be  sorry  to  be 
de  trop"  And  he  turned  to  walk  away.  But  Leo  linked  his 
arm  in  his,  and  kept  him  there. 

"  Come,  Raymond,"  he  said,  good-naturedly,  "  I  cannot 
afford  to  lose  an  old  friend  because  I  have  made  a  new  one. 
Don't  punish  him  too  much,  Lady  Bergholt.  I  am  sure  the 
most  tropical  heat  at  the  Opera  would  be  less  cruel  to  him  than 
the  frost  of  your  displeasure."  He  spoke  gayly  for  the  sake 
of  saying  something,  not  because  he  was  aware  of  the  state 
of  his  friend's  feelings. 

But  all  the  way  home  Mignon  continued  to  sting  Raymond 
with  darts  and  thrusts,  every  one  of  which  goaded  him  to 
more  wrathful  indignation.  In  vain  Lady  Clover  and  Leo 
good-humoredly  interposed :  Mignon  was  bewitchingly,  mer- 
rily, iinperturbably  spiteful ;  Raymond  bitter,  angry,  furious  in 
proportion. 

"  Mr.  Vyner,"  says  Mignon,  "  do  you  think  it  would  be  any 
use  my  stopping  at  a  bonbon-shop  for  Mr.  L'Estrange  ?  I  have 
heard  that  sweets  put  fractious  children  in  a  good  humor 
sometimes." 

"  If  you  infused  a  little  more  sweetness  into  your  remarks, 
it  might  be  efficacious,"  retorted  Raymond,  looking  daggers 
at  her. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Vyner,  I  appeal  to  you,"  cried  Mignon,  "  have 
I  said  anything  that  is  not  sweet  ?  Mr.  L'Estrange  is  bilious, 
I  think :  everything  turns  acid  upon  him.  I  am  thankful  to 
say  my  husband  is  not  of  a  bilious  temperament :  it  must  be 
dreadful  to  have  a  bilious  husband.  Kitty,  my  dear,  you  had 
a  narrow  escape  in  not  marrying  Mr.  L'Estrange :  if  he  is  so 
terribly  cross  with  his  friends,  what  would  he  be  with  a  wife?" 

It  was  impossible  for  Leo  and  Kitty  to  help  laughing  at 


MIGNON.  209 

Mignon's  kittenish  mischievousness,  but  with  Raymond  it  was 
no  laughing-matter.  For  the  time  being,  his  love  was  turned 
into  hatred,  as  love  which  is  not  pure  will  turn  when  it  is 
wounded.  Mignon  continued  her  provocations  all  through 
dinner,  until  Raymond  took  refuge  in  sullen  silence.  Sir  Tris- 
tram was  dining  at  Greenwich  with  Fred  Conyngham ;  Sir 
Josias,  whom  the  Opera  bored,  was  dutifully  devoting  the 
evening  to  his  mother :  so  the  four  young  people  dined  and 
went  to  the  Opera  together.  Here  matters  grew  worse.  Ray- 
mond was  ousted  from  his  usual  place  behind  Lady  Bergholt's 
chair,  and  Leo  reigned  in  his  stead.  Mignon  had  nothing  of 
the  least  importance  to  say  to  him  ;  truth  to  tell,  she  found 
him  rather  heavy,  since  he  did  not  pour  into  her  ear  the  ex- 
aggerated flatteries  to  which  she  was  accustomed ;  but  all  the 
same  she  wreathed  her  face  in  bewitching  smiles  and  turned 
frequently  to  whisper  to  him,  with  the  amiable  intention  of 
annoying  Raymond. 

"  Mr.  L'Estrange,"  she  said,  sweetly,  as  he  was  about  to 
leave  the  box,  u  will  you  tell  Lord  Threestars  that  I  want  him, 
if  you  happen  to  see  him  ?" 

u  Certainly,''  answered  Raymond,  stiffly,  changing  his  mind 
about  going,  and  resuming  his  seat ;  "  though  what  on  earth 
any  one  can  see  in  an  ass  like  that  is  beyond  me." 

"  He  is  so  good-looking,  and  he  has  a  title,"  answered  Mignon ; 
then,  with  a  look  of  the  raciest  impertinence  at  Raymond,  she 
added,  "  Of  the  two,  I  think  an  ass  with  a  title  is  preferable 
to  one  without." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Raymond,  fiercely.  "  I  suppose  that  is 
intended  for  me." 

"  But  I  did  not  say  Lord  Threestars  was  an  ass,"  answered 
Mignon,  sweetly.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  think  him  charming." 

This  was  too  much  for  Raymond,  and  he  retired  in  high 
dudgeon. 

"  Really,  Mignon,  you  are  too  bad !"  cried  Lady  Clover. 
"  Why  do  you  take  such  delight  in  teasing  that  poor  boy  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  Lady  Bergholt  made  answer,  with  a  face  of  im- 
perturbable gravity,  "  I  am  trying  to  smooth  the  way  a  little  for 
his  poor  wife  when  he  gets  one :  he  must  not  be  encouraged 
in  his  overbearing  ways." 

18* 


210  MIGNON. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  He  said,  and  his  observation  was  just,  that  a  man  on  whom  Heaven 
hath  bestowed  a  beautiful  wife,  should  be  as  cautious  of  the  men  he  brings 
home  to  his  house,  as  careful  of  observing  the  female  friends  with  whom 
his  spouse  converses  abroad.  .  .  .  Wherefore  Lothario  observed,  every 
married  man  has  occasion  for  some  friend  to  apprise  him  of  any  omis- 
sion in  her  conduct ;  for  it  often  happens  that  he  is  too  much  in  love 
with  his  wife  to  observe,  or  too  much  afraid  of  offending  her  to  prescribe 
the  limits  of,  her  behavior  in  those  things  the  following  or  eschewing  of 
which  may  tend  to  his  honor  or  reproach,  whereas  that  inconvenience 
might  be  easily  amended  by  the  advice  of  a  friend." 

CERVANTES. 

SOME  one  enters  the  box,  and  Kitty  turns  her  attention  to 
the  new-comer.  "  By  the  way,"  asks  Mignon,  leaning  back 
and  speaking  in  a  low  tone  to  Leo,  "  is  there  not  some  romantic 
story  about  your  getting  shot  at  Mrs.  Stratheden's  and  her 
sucking  the  poison  out  of  your  wound,  or  doing  something 
equally  wonderful  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Stratheden  saved  my  life,"  answers  Leo,  his  eyes 
lighting  up  as  they  always  do  when  her  name  is  mentioned. 
And,  being  young  and  ignorant,  he  proceeds  to  expatiate  upon 
Olga's  heroism,  thinking,  because  his  interlocutor  is  a  woman 
and  young  and  beautiful,  he  is  secure  of  her  sympathy. 

"  How  horrid !"  utters  Mignon,  with  a  shiver  of  disgust. 
"  She  must  be  very  strong-minded." 

There  is  an  indescribable  accent  of  depreciation  in  her  voice, 
as  though  Mrs.  Stratheden  had  committed  an  unfeminine 
action,  shocking  to  the  feelings  of  her  sex.  Leo  feels  as 
though  he  had  been  suddenly  plunged  into  cold  water. 

"/could  not  have  done  such  a  thing,"  proceeds  the  fair  one, 
•with  a  little  meritorious  air ;  "  but  I  believe  people's  nerves 
get  strong  as  they  get  old." 

Leo  makes  no  answer :  he  is  positively  stupefied. 

"What  do  you  think  of  her?"  continues  Mignon,  in  an 
indifferent  tone,  as  though  the  subject  were  not  very  engross- 
ing. "  Lady -like,  but  pussee,  is  she  not  ?  and  fancies  herself 
enormously  ?" 


MIONON.  211 

Mignon  has  an  uncontrollable  spite  against  Mrs.  Stratheden : 
it  breaks  out  whenever  her  name  is  mentioned.  She  has 
gathered  from  Leo's  manner  that  he  admires  her,  and  resents  it. 

Leo  pulls  himself  together  after  the  wrench  his  feelings 
have  sustained.  He  has  been  charmed  by  Lady  Bergholt  and 
dazzled  by  her  beauty,  but  in  the  space  of  thirty  seconds  all 
her  charm  is  gone,  he  feels  towards  her  as  he  might  have  done 
towards  some  lovely  Lamia  who  had  suddenly  revealed  herself 
in  her  natural  shape. 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Stratheden  simply  the  most  perfect  woman 
in  every  way  that  I  ever  met,"  he  says,  in  tones  of  suppressed 
passion. 

From  that  moment  Mignon  hates  him. 

"  Really !"  she  says,  raising  her  eyebrows,  and  reflecting 
how  she  may  best  hurt  him.  "  Ah,  I  think  I  remember  hear- 
ing you  had  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  her.  How  odd  it 
is  that  boys  always  fall  m  love  with  women  old  enough  to  be 
their  mothers !  I  suppose  it  is  a  dreadful  blow  to  you  that 
she  is  going  to  marry  Lord  Harley." 

Mercifully  for  Leo,  the  door  opens,  and  Lord  Threestars 
comes  in.  From  that  moment,  Mignon  ignores  every  one  else, 
and  Leo  gladly  takes  the  chair  by  Lady  Clover. 

"  Did  I  hear  Mrs.  Stratheden's  name  ?"  she  asks  him ;  "  and 
do  you  know  her  ?  Is  she  not  charming  ?  Was  it  really  you 
whose  life  she  saved  ?  Ah  !  she  is  a  woman  in  ten  thousand. 
I  love  her  better  than  any  one  I  know." 

The  mantle  of  Mignon's  loveliness  has  fallen  on  Kitty's 
shoulders,  at  least  in  Leo's  eyes. 

"  She  is  not  a  bit  spiteful  or  little-minded,  as  a  great  many 
of  us  are,  I  am  afraid,"  pursues  Lady  Clover,  with  an  enthu- 
siasm that  is  perfectly  genuine.  "  And  you  have  no  idea  how 
much  good  she  does  among  the  poor,  and  how  kind  she  is. 
They  say  her  estate  is  the  best  managed  and  her  people  the 
best  off  in  Blankshire.  She  sees  to  everything  herself,  and 
won't  leave  it  to  her  steward.  I  wonder  she  has  never 
married,"  Kitty  rattles  on :  "  she  would  make  the  most 
charming  wife  in  the  world.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  should  fall 
on  my  knees  before  her  and  stop  there  until  she  consented  to 
marry  me." 

"  Is  it  true  that  she  is  going  to  marry  Lord  Harley  ?"  asks 
Leo,  in  a  low,  faltering  voice. 


212  MIGNON. 

"I  do  not  know.  She  denied  it  when  I  asked  her;  but 
then  we  always  do  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know,  until  every- 
thing is  definitively  settled,"  answers  Kitty,  with  an  oracular 
nod.  "  It  would  be  a  charming  match, — so  perfectly  suitable 
in  every  way." 

Leo  is  so  acutely  conscious  of  the  truth  of  this  remark  that 
he  can  make  no  answer  to  it. 

llaymond  only  reappears  at  the  closing  scene  of  the  opera. 
Lord  Threestars  has  left  some  time  ago,  and  Lady  Bergholt  is 
so  much  disgusted  with  Leo  that  she  takes  Raymond  back 
into  her  favor,  lets  him  put  on  her  cloak,  smiles  upon  him, 
and  sends  him  up  from  his  wrath  into  a  seventh  heaven. 

"  Let's  walk  as  far  as  Pratt's  !"  he  says  to  Leo,  after  they 
have  put  the  ladies  into  their  carriages.  "  Is  she  not  lovely?" 

"  Very,"  replies  Leo,  in  a  curt,  cold  tone,  that  seems  to 
grudge  the  praise  it  cannot  but  give. 

"  She  is  the  loveliest  woman  in  England  !"  says  llaymond, 
with  an  enthusiasm  which  makes  ample  amends  for  Leo's 
coolness.  "  Can't  you  understand  a  man  losing  his  head  about 
a  creature  like  that  ?" 

Leo  looks  at  him,  and  answers,  frankly, — 

"  I  cannot  understand  any  man  losing  his  head  about  a 
woman  who  is  another  man's  wife." 

"  Most  virtuous  rustic !"  scoffs  llaymond,  gayly.  "  Have 
you  not  lived  long  enough  in  society  to  see  how  small  an  ob- 
stacle a  husband  is  in  this  happy  age?  I  assure  you  Sir 
Tristram  isn't  half  as  much  in  my  way  as  that  conceited  fool 
Threestars." 

"  Of  course  I  know  you  are  jesting,"  Leo  answers,  gravely; 
"  but  don't  you  think  it's  a  pity  to  talk  like  that  about  a 
woman  whom  you  admire?  It  must  lower  her  even  in  your  own 
estimation." 

llaymond  becomes  intensely  serious  at  once. 

"  I  may  have  spoken  in  a  jesting  tone,"  he  says,  "  but  God 
knows  it  is  true  that  I  worship  the  ground  that  woman  walks 
on,  and  that  at  times  I  feel  as  near  as  a  man  can  do  to  blowing 
my  brains  out  about  her." 

"  Then,"  Leo  answers,  sternly,  {t  I  can  no  more  understand 
a  man  giving  way  to  such  a  feeling  for  his  friend's  wife  than 
I  could  understand  his  stealing  the  jewels  from  his  safe,  or  the 
horses  out  of  his  stable." 


MIGNON.  213 

"  How  can  you  help  it,"  retorts  Raymond,  passionately,  "if 
you  meet  a  woman  too  late,  when  accident  has  made  her  the 
wife  of  another  man  ?  It  was  a  shameful  marriage,  tying  a 
young  thing  like  that  to  a  man  much  more  than  double  her 
own  age :  it  is  more, — it  is  a  sacrifice  revolting  to  human 
nature." 

"  From  all  I  hear,"  says  Leo,  "  Lady  Bergholt  married 
her  husband  of  her  own  free  will,  and  with  her  eyes  open. 
She  seems  perfectly  happy,  and  most  keenly  alive  to  the  privi- 
leges of  her  wealth  and  station." 

"  She  was  such  a  child,"  mutters  Raymond ;  "  she  did  not 
know  what  love  was." 

"  And  do  you  want  to  teach  her  ?  Do  you  want  to  sow 
the  seeds  of  unlawful  passion  in  her  heart,  and  change  her 
from  the  light-hearted  girl  she  is  now  to  a  miserable,  guilty, 
despised  creature  ?  If  that  is  your  idea  of  love,  I  confess  I 
don't  understand  it."  - 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk,  who  have  not  been 
tempted,"  answers  Raymond,  scornfully.  "  Try  and  put  your- 
self in  my  place.  Suppose  Mrs.  Stratheden  were  married, 
instead  of  being  free  as  she  is." 

"  Do  not  bring  her  name  in,"  mutters  Leo,  huskily.  "  / 
know  this,  that  no  power  on  earth  should  induce  me  to  harm 
a  hair  of  the  woman's  head  I  loved." 

"  Fine  doctrine  !"  scoffs  Raymond.  "  And  /  know  that 
love  is  a  thing  uncontrollable,  and  that  when  two  beings  meet 
whom  nature  has  destined  for  each  other,  all  must  go  down 
before  it,  whether  it  be  rank,  or  social  ties,  or"  (in  a  low  voice) 
"  even  the  marriage  bond  itself." 

Leo  turns  to  look  at  hJ£  friend,  and  sees  a  face  so  marred 
and  changed  with  passion  that  he  is  absolutely  aghast. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Raymond,"  he  says,  with  great  ear- 
nestness, "  don't  give  way  to  thoughts  like  these !  Haven't 
we  had  instances  enough  lately  of  this  sort  of  thing  and  its 
results  ?  Why,  you  and  Lady  Bergholt  are  the  last  people  in 
the  world  to  suit  each  other,  even  if  you  had  met  when  you 
were  both  free." 

"  You  only  judge  by  her  little  capricious  ways,"  says  Ray- 
mond :  "  they  mean  nothing,  and  I  am  a  fool  to  be  put  out  by 
them.  I  believe"  (lowering  his  voice)  "  they  are  only  assumed 
to  conceal  her  real  feelings." 


214  M1GNON. 

Leo  does  not  believe  anything  of  the  sort.  He  believes  that, 
fortunately  for  herself  and  all  parties  concerned,  Lady  Bergholt 
has  no  passion  but  vanity,  and  that  she  is  in  her  heart  as  in- 
different to  Raymond  as  even  her  husband  could  wish  her,  and 
is  simply  amusing  herself  at  his  expense.  But  Leo  is  wise 
enough  to  keep  his  opinion  to  himself;  no  man  who  imagines 
himself  the  victim  of  a  grande  passion  likes  to  be  told  that  the 
object  of  his  devotion  does  not  care  two  straws  about  him, 
least  of  all  a  man  like  Raymond. 

So  he  says,  "  My  dear  old  fellow,  why  don't  you  put  your- 
self out  of  the  way  of  temptation  ?  If  it  is  as  bad  as  all  this, 
nothing  less  than  the  Atlantic  is  wide  enough  to  separate  you 
from  her.  Come  with  me :  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go, 
and  will  start  at  once,  if  you  will  go  with  me." 

But  Raymond  is  a  spoiled  child  who  sees  no  beauty  in  self- 
sacrifice.  His  eyes  kindle,  and  there  is  the  fervor  of  strong 
passion  in  his  voice,  as  he  answers, — 

"  Why  should  one  fly  from  the  prospect  of  the  most  exqui- 
site happiness  that  life  can  give?" 

"  When  I  was  quite  a  lad,"  says  Leo,  with  apparent  irrele- 
vancy, "  I  was  staying  in  the  house  with  a  husband  and  wife. 
I  never  saw  two  people  hate  each  other  in  the  way  they  did. 
I  don't  think  boys,  as  a  rule,  notice  those  things  very  much, 
but  it  used  to  take  away  my  appetite  only  to  listen  to  the  things 
they  said  to  each  other.  There  was  no  vulgar  quarrelling,  but 
every  word  conveyed  some  cutting  sting,  and  the  hatred  in 
their  eyes  was  unmistakable.  Years  afterwards  I  heard  their 
story.  She  had  run  away  from  her  husband  with  this  man : 
it  had  been  a  case  of  the  most  violent  infatuation  on  both  sides. 
The  first  husband  got  a  divorce  :  it  was  the  man  who  probably 
said,  as  you  do,  that  nature  had  destined  them  for  each  other 
who  was  her  husband  when  I  met  her.  And  forgive  me,  old 
fellow,  for  saying  so,  but  it  is  just  such  a  couple  I  fancy  you 
and  Lady  Bergholt  would  make  if — as  I  trust  in  heaven  they 
won't — your  present  desires  could  be  fulfilled." 

Raymond  laughs  lightly. 

"  As  I  said  before,"  he  answers,  "  you  judge  from  the  silly, 
childish  nonsense  you  saw  to-day.  If  ever  my  darling  should 
be  mine,  you  will  see  how  you  misjudged  us." 

"  You  do  not  love  her,"  says  Leo,  hotly,  "  or  you  would  not 
dishonor  her  by  speaking  of  such  a  possibility  to  another  man." 


MIGNON.  215 

"  Before  you  judge  others,  wait  until  you  are  in  the  same 
position  yourself.  You  may  be  before  long,"  utters  Raymond, 
significantly. 

A  hot  flush  overspreads  Leo's  face. 

"  I  don't  -want  to  make  myself  out  better  than  other  men," 
he  says,  "  but  sooner  than  bring  disgrace  or  dishonor  on  the 
head  of  the  woman  I  love,  I  would  put  a  bullet  through  my 
brain." 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  talk,"  remarks  Raymond,  contemptuously ; 
and  so  they  part. 

On  the  same  evening  Sir  Tristram  and  Fred  Conyngham 
are  dining  together  at  the  Trafalgar  at  Greenwich, — their  first 
tete-a-tete  dinner  since  the  marriage.  Fred  does  not  frequent 
his  friend's  house  much :  there  is  little  love  lost  between  him 
and  Mignon.  A  very  few  meetings  sufficed  to  show  her  that 
he  had  played  the  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  on  the  day  when  he 
entertained  her  and  Regina  at  lunch,  and  she  is  perfectly  aware 
that  he  disapproves  almost  everything  about  her  but  her  beauty. 
The  feeling  is  more  than  reciprocated.  She  dislikes  everything 
in  him  :  his  sarcasms  penetrate  and  sting  her :  she  is  not  witty, 
and,  in  her  endeavor  to  retaliate,  is  not  unfrequently  rude. 
Never  will  she  forgive  him  a  remark  provoked  one  day  by  her 
contemptuous  treatment  of  Sir  Tristram  and  himself,  "  two 
dried-up  old  fogies,"  as  she  politely  called  them. 

"  It  is  quite  right  for  beauty  and  youth  to  arrogate  them- 
selves," said  Fred,  looking  at  the  lovely,  scornful  face  before 
him,  "  since  they  are  entirely  due  to  the  meritorious  efforts 
of  those  who  possess  them,  and  are  imperishable." 

"Anyhow,  it  is  better  to  be  young  and  lovely  than  old  and 
plain,  don't  you  think?"  asked  Mignon,  maliciously. 

"  Perhaps,"  Fred  answered,  letting  fall  on  her  one  of  those 
calm,  reflective  glances  that  his  friends,  much  more  his  foes, 
know  to  be  dangerous.  "  And  yet,  I  sometimes  think,  God 
gives  great  beauty  to  some  women  as  a  sort  of  compensation 
for  having  denied  them  every  other  grace." 

Mignon  blushed  scarlet.  The  victory  remained  with  Fred  ; 
but  it  cost  him  dear. 

Sir  Tristram  is  sorely  vexed  at  this  antagonism  between  the 
two  people  whom  of  all  others  he  would  like  to  see  friends :  it 
seems  to  him  that  Mignon  never  appears  to  so  little  advantage 
as  when  Fred  is  present,  and  the  only  time  he  ever  feels  dis 


216  MIGNON. 

posed  to  be  angry  with  his  friend  is  when  he  is  exercising  his 
satire  upon  Mignon. 

Fred  groans  inwardly  as  he  sees  how  entirely  Sir  Tristram 
is  subjugated  by  his  lovely  wife :  he  anathematizes  his  folly, 
and  soliloquizes  jeremiads  as  to  the  future. 

"  The  old  proverb,"  he  reflects.  "  Set  a  beggar  on  horse- 
back, and  he  will  ride  to  the  devil.  If  the  beggar  is  of  the 
female  sex,  so  much  the  sooner  will  she  arrive  at  her  destina- 
tion, and  so  many  the  more  companions  will  she  carry  along 
with  her.  Why  should  a  man  turn  fool  because  a  woman  is 
fair  ?  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  in  the  zenith  of  his  under- 
standing. A  few  grains  more  of  white  and  red  in  the  skin,  a 
shade  more  color  in  the  eyes,  an  imperceptible  increase  in  the 
usual  length  of  an  eyelash,  a  curve  here,  a  straight  line  there, 
— to  think  that  upon  these  trifles  hangs  a  woman's  power  over 
a  man,  the  power  of  turning  him  from  a  reasoning  being  to  a 
fool !  Bah  !  I  hate  pretty  women  !"  (with  a  gesture  of  dis- 
gust). "  A  woman  has  a  small  red  mouth  and  regular  teeth, 
and  she  may  laugh  from  morning  to  night  at  the  greatest  in- 
anities or  the  most  serious  subjects  without  being  taken  for 
the  idiot  she  is."  (No  doubt  Fred  is  thinking  of  Mignon.) 
"  She  may  be  heartless,  ignorant,  rude, — no  matter :  she  has 
a  crowd  of  fools  to  admire  her  and  take  the  toads  that  fall 
from  her  mouth  for  pearls  and  diamonds.  What  good  have 
beautiful  women  ever  done  ?  Only  set  the  world  by  the  ears, 
as  far  as  I  know.  Poor  old  Tristram  !  he  is  so  proud  because 
he  owns  this  lovely  bit  of  flesh  and  blood  !  Owns  it,  indeed  ! 
rather  it  owns  him ;  and  a  pretty  tyrant  he  will  find  it  before 
long,  if  he  does  not  already.  Minx !  to  think  he  took  her 
from  her  cottage  home  and  her  shabby  frocks,  and  now  she  is 
by  way  of  flinging  his  money  out  of  windows  with  both 
hands.  Poor  Tristram  !  Why  could  not  that  drivelling  old 
uncle  have  left  his  money  to  charities,  instead  of  to  a  man 
who  didn't  want  it?  and  then  my  lady  would  have  been  wan- 
dering about  the  Surrey  lanes  in  her  old  frock  to  this  day,  and 
I  should  still  have  possessed  a  friend.  Ah  !"  (sighing),  "  we 
shall  never  be  David  and  Jonathan  any  more,  never  love  each 
other  with  the  love  passing  the  love  of  women.  Perhaps, 
though,  if  women  in  David's  time  had  been  like  they  are  now, 
the  two  wouldn't  have  been  friends  so  long !" 

Dinner  is  over,  and  the  two  men  are  sitting  by  the  open 


MIGNON.  217 

window,  watching  the  big,  brown-sailed  barges  glide  by.  It 
is  high  tide ;  the  breeze  makes  a  strong  ripple  on  the  water ; 
twilight  is  creeping  on  ;  lights  come  out  here  and  there :  alto- 
gether, it  is  a  picturesque  scene.  Happily  for  the  guests,  the 
urchins  cannot  turn  it  into  Pandemonium  to-night  with  their 
weird  capers  in  the  mud  and  their  shrill  rasping  cries  of 
"  Chuck  out,  sir." 

There  is  not  a  great  deal  of  conversation  between  the  friends: 
each  is  conscious  of  a  slight  gene,  which  one  deplores  and  the 
other  is  half  disposed  to  resent. 

There  has  been  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  during  which  each 
has  puffed  thoughtfully  at  his  cigar  with  a  more  reflective  air 
than  is  entirely  due  to  an  unexceptionable  dinner.  Fred  is 
the  first  to  break  it.  From  his  tone,  it  is  evident  that  his 
remark  is  no  irrelevant  one,  but  a  continuation  aloud  of  his 
thoughts. 

"  Well,  Tristram,  is  it  a  perfect  success  ?" 

A  little  cloud  crosses  his  friend's  face,  as  though  he  would 
rather  the  subject  had  not  been  mooted.  But  he  answers,  with 
slow  gravity, — 

"  Well,  yes,  I  think  I  may  say  it  is." 

"  And  you  don't  regret  it  ?  don't  wish  it  undone  ?  don't 
think  lingeringly  of  this  time  last  year?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  you  are  perfectly  happy?'' 

Sir  Tristram  smiles  his  pleasant  smile. 

"  My  dear  Fred,  is  any  one  perfectly  happy  ?  Are  you 
perfectly  happy  ?" 

"  I  !  Of  course  not,"  says  Fred,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm ; 
"  but  then  I  am  a  poor  devil  of  a  bachelor.  I  thought  the 
possession  of  a  lovely  woman  whom  one  adored  was  supposed 
to  confer  utter  and  perfect  bliss." 

"  My  dear  old  Fred,  do  you  think  life  would  be  worth  hav- 
ing if  one  did  not  indulge  extravagant  anticipations  sometimes? 
I  know  what  you  want :  you  want  me  to  say,  '  You  were 
right,  and  I  was  wrong.  I  was  a  fool,  and  I  humble  myself 
before  your  superior  wisdom  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.'  But  I 
cannot  say  anything  of  the  sort.  I  do  not  regret  my  marriage 
in  the  very  least ;  and  if  the  time  had  to  come  over  again,  I 
should  do  exactly  the  same." 

"  Oh,  then,  that  is  all  right,"  replied  Fred,  in  a  tone  which, 
K  19 


218  MIGNON. 

however,  betrays  very  little  satisfaction.  There  is  a  pause, 
broken  presently  by  Sir  Tristram. 

"You  arc  prejudiced  against  iny  wife,  Fred,  and  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  it  grieves  me.  You  might,  for  the  sake  of  old 
times,  try  to  conquer  it  and  feel  kindly  towards  her." 

"  It  is  just  for  the  sake  of  old  times  that  I  can't  conquer 
it,"  answered  Fred,  brusquely.  "  If,  having  married  the  best 
fellow  in  the  world,  she  was  grateful  to  him  for  the  benefits  he 
heaps  upon  her  and  tried  to  make  him  happy  or  studied  any- 
thing earthly  but  herself,  I  should  be  ready  to  think  her  per- 
fect too  ;  but  when  I  see " 

"  Don't,  Fred  !"  interposes  Sir  Tristram,  hastily.  "  I  could 
not  bear  a  word  against  her,  even  from  you ;  and  you  must 
not  judge  by  the  little  petulant  ways  you  have  seen.  I  don't 
know  how  it  is,  but  there  seems  an  inborn  antagonism  between 
you  two :  .each  appears  to  have  the  knack  of  making  the  other 
show  to  the  least  advantage." 

"  Our  antagonism  is  very  easily  explained,"  replies  Fred. 
"  Lady  Bergholt  abhors  any  one  who  is  too  candid  to  feed  her 
with  sugared  lies  and  who  does  not  seem  to  think  all  she  says 
and  does  perfect ;  and  I  hate  equally  to  see  a  woman  trading 
upon  her  beauty  and  using  it  to  attain  her  own  selfish  ends 
and  to  ride  rough-shod  over  other  people's  feelings." 

"  You  are  unjust,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  warmly.  "  It  is  only 
natural  that  so  very  lovely  a  woman  should  be  a  little  spoiled : 
every  one  conspires  to  make  her  so." 

"  Then  I  like  to  be  different  from  every  one.  Do  you  sup- 
pose people  will  feel  the  same  toleration  for  her  caprices  fifteen 
or  twenty  years  hence  ?  for  you  know  the  faults  and  follies 
don't  fade  with  the  beauty,  but  only  become  more  accentuated. 
That  is  the  sort  of  woman  you  may  see  any  day  in  the  Park, 
at  races,  balls, — everywhere,  in  fact, — painted  and  dyed,  ridi- 
culed and  despised,  agonizing  after  her  lost  youth,  struggling 
vainly  to  combat  Time's  handiwork.  This  is  what  fools  make 
of  pretty  women,  and  what,  thank  God,  I  have  not  on  my 
conscience.  A  woman  ought  to  be  taught  what  a  gracious 
thing  beauty  is  when  modestly  worn,  not  to  make  it  a  cloak 
for  the  most  odious  selfishness  and  disregard  of  others." 

Sir  Tristram  smiles. 

"  My  dear  Fred,  I  am  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you.  I 
think  you  are  jealous.  And  indeed  you  look  at  the  dark  side 


MIGNON.  219 

of  the  picture,  and  forget  what  a  charming  thing  it  is  for  a 
man  who  has  passed  his  youth  to  have  the  constant  presence 
of  a  lovely  fresh  young  girl,  and  to  feel,  when  you  see  all  the 
admiration  she  excites,  that  you  are  the  happy  possessor  of 
so  much  beauty." 

Fred  looks  up  shrewdly. 

"  I  confess,"  he  answers,  "  that  being  a  man  who  has 
passed  his  youth,  it  would  not  give  me  pleasure  to  see  my 
wife  perpetually  surrounded  by  men  who  have  not, — young 
L'Estrange,  for  instance." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"Yet  did  I  see  Apame  sitting  at  the  right  hand  of  the  king. 

"And  taking  the  crown  from  the  king's  head,  and  setting  it  upon 
her  own  head,  she  also  struck  the  king  with  her  left  hand. 

"  And  yet  for  all  this  the  king  gaped  and  gazed  upon  her  with  open 
mouth :  if  she  laughed  upon  him,  he  laughed  also,  but  if  she  took  any 
displeasure  at  him,  the  king  was  fain  to  flatter  that  she  might  be  recon- 
ciled to  him  again. 

"  0  ye  men,  how  can  it  be  but  women  should  be  strong,  seeing  they  do 
thus  ?" 

Book  of  Esdras. 

A  CLOUD  gathers  on  Sir  Tristram's  brow. 

"  Fred,"  he  says,  presently,  with  a  quiver  about  the  muscles 
of  his  mouth,  "  I  can  hardly  imagine  that  you  asked  me  to 
dine  with  you  to-night  for  the  sake  of  saying  things  it  would 
pain  me  to  hear." 

"  No,  upon  my  soul !"  answers  Fred,  "you  would  hardly  think 
that  of  me.  I  don't  believe  any  one  on  this  earth  loves  you 
half  so  heartily  as  I  do,  or  would  do  as  much  for  you.  That 
is  just  why  I  take  upon  myself  the  unpleasant  task  of  Mentor. 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you  :  say  I  am  wrong,  think  I  jrm 
wrong,  but  still  let  me  put  in  my  word  of  warning.  I  under- 
stand your  motives  thoroughly,  I  know  they  are  all  generous 
and  good,  but  there  is  an  old  saying,  '  Be  just  before  you  are 
generous.'  You  have  taken  a  young  girl  from  a  comparatively 
obscure  position,  and  given  her  what  to  her  must  be  wealth 
unbounded  and  perfect  liberty.  More  than  that,  you  have 


220  MIONON. 

surrounded  her  with  temptations.  Now,  it  must  be  a  very 
wise  und  a  very  strong  head  that  would  not  be  turned  by  all 
this.  Don't  you  think,  Tristram,  that  you  have  incurred  an 
immense  responsibility  ?" 

A  pained  look  comes  into  the  deep-gray  eyes. 

"  Now  that  you  speak  out  frankly  and  fairly,"  says  Sir 
Tristram,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  will  answer  you  in  the  same  spirit. 
Yes,  I  do  think  it  is  a  heavy  responsibility,  and  I  suffer  more 
than  I  can  tell  you  from  the  thought.  For  my  own  sake,  I 
have  not  a  single  regret  about  my  marriage  ;  I  thank  God  for 
my  happiness  every  day ;  but  I  do  regret  it  bitterly  at  times 
for  hers.  I  had  a  wild  idea  that  I  should  be  able  to  inspire 
her  with  something  like  the  love  I  felt  myself.  I  was  a  fool 
for  thinking  so  :  what  should  a  gay  light-hearted  young  girl 
feel  for  a  man  older  than  her  father,  except  perhaps  a  good- 
natured  toleration,  or,  if  he  is  worthy  of  it,  a  dull  respect  ? 
"What  can  she  do  when  she  is  surrounded  by  good-looking, 
cheery  young  fellows  but  contrast  them  with  me,  and  accuse 
me  in  her  heart  of  having  cut  her  off  from  the  love  and  hap- 
piness she  might  otherwise  have  known?  That  is  why  I 
leave  her  unrestrained  ;  that  is  why  I  let  other  men  come  and 
go  as  they  will ;  that  is  why  I  school  myself  to  bear  the  pain 
of  seeing  her  smile  and  look  glad  when  other  men  approach 
her." 

Fred  is  more  touched  than  he  would  care  to  show. 

"It  is  a  noble  idea,"  he  says,  "but  a  very  Quixotic  one,  and 
it  is  open  to  two  interpretations.  A  man  has  no  business  to 
seem  careless  of  his  wife's  honor.  Be  sure  no  one  gives  him 
credit  for  such  chivalrous  sentiments  as  yours.  A  young,  in- 
experienced girl  like  Lady  Bcrgholt,  who  cannot  yet  know  much 
of  the  world's  ways,  wants  to  be  guided  by  some  one  who  does : 
if  you  allow  her  free  and  unrestrained  intercourse  with  young 
men,  you  will  have  no  right  to  complain  if  you  discover  one  day 
that  the  men  have  abused  your  friendship,  and  your  wife  your 
confidence.  I  know  what  I  have  said  scores  of  times  about 
giving  advice  to  a  friend,  and  about  meddling  with  matters 
that  don't  concern  me,  but  when  it  is  your  own  familiar  friend, 
as  Jonathan  was  to  David,  it  is  different."  And  Fred  gulps 
down  his  very  unusual  emotion. 

"  Are  you  still  thinking  of  Raymond  L'Estrange?"  asks  Sir 
Tristram,  in  a  low  voice. 


MIGNON.  221 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  Fred  answers,  firmly.  "  I  do  not  believe  for 
an  instant  that  your  wife  cares  two  straws  for  him ;  but  no 
one  can  see  them  together  for  ten  minutes  without  being  per- 
fectly aware  of  what  his  feelings  are  for  her ;  and  it  can  hardly 
be  an  edifying  sight  for  a  husband,  or  his  friends,  however 
great  a  tribute  it  may  be  to  the  lady's  charms." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  asks  Sir  Tristram,  in  a  pained  voice. 
"  Of  course  I  have  seen  it ;  I  have  felt  almost  sorry  for  him, 
poor  lad,  to  see  how  Mignon  teases  and  torments  him.  I  am 
perfectly  certain  she  cares  nothing  for  him  now ;  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  if  I  made  any  remark  about  it,  or  prevented  his 
coming  so  often  to  the  house,  it  might  awaken  her  interest  in 
him." 

"  I  would  not  have  him  hanging  about  in  the  way  he  does," 
said  Fred,  resolutely.  "  Take  my  word  for  it,  that  too  much 
confidence  and  generosity,  where  those  you  are  dealing  with  do 
not  possess  an  equal  degree  of  it,  may  have  much  the  same  re- 
sult as  foolhardiness." 

Further  conversation  is  put  a  stop  to  by  an  intimation  that 
the  phaeton  is  at  the  door,  and  an  over-charge  in  the  bill  sends 
Fred's  thoughts  into  another  current.  Not  so  with  Sir  Tris- 
tram :  he  broods  over  the  matter  all  the  way  to  town,  and  in 
his  study  after  he  has  reached  home.  My  lady  has  not  re- 
turned, and  her  husband  sits,  nervous  and  wretched,  trying  to 
"  screw  his  courage  to  the  sticking-point."  Half  an  hour  after 
midnight,  Mignon  comes  in,  radiant  and  good-humored:  to 
take  advantage  of  her  mood  seems  an  act  of  meanness,  but  Sir 
Tristram  feels  as  though  it  must  be  done. 

He  waits  until  he  thinks  the  maid  will  have  performed  the 
task  of  brushing  out  the  golden  locks, — no  easy  one,  as  my 
lady  is  intolerant  of  the  slightest  jerk  from  the  comb, — and 
then  knocks  diffidently  at  her  door. 

"  Come  in.  Pray,  are  you  going  to  sit  up  all  night  ?"  asks 
Mignon,  with  wide-open  eyes,  as  she  remarks  that  he  is  still 
in  evening  dress.  "  Is  anybody  dead  ? — are  you  going  to  a 
funeral  ?  or  are  you  trying  to  get  your  face  to  an  expression 
befitting  the  Sabbath  ?" 

"  I  only  want  to  speak  to  you,  dear,  when  you  are  disen- 
gaged." 

"  Is  it  anything  you  cannot  say  before  Nowell  ?  Really,  I 
feel  quite  nervous.  Make  haste  and  go,  Nowell !  No,  stay. 

19* 


222  MIQNON. 

I  don't  think  it  can  be  so  important  as  my  hair.     Would  you 
mind  coming  back  in  ten  minutes,  Tristram  ?" 

"  May  I  not  stay  and  see  the  operation  ?"  he  says,  coming 
forward  and  looking  lovingly  at  the  wealth  of  golden  hair  spread 
over  the  fair  shoulders.  He  thinks  of  the  old  lines  again, — 

"  Entre  or  et  roux 
Dieu  fit  ses  longs  cheveux." 

"  Certainly  not,"  replies  the  fair  one,  imperiously,  whilst  her 
Abigail  makes  the  reflection  that  she  "  wouldn't  be  bordered 
about  so"  if  she  were  Sir  Tristram. 

When  he  returns,  my  lady  receives  him  with  a  yawn,  and  a 
less  amiable  expression  of  countenance.  Having  reflected  upon 
the  matter,  she  has  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she  is  going  to  be 
found  fault  with. 

"  My  darling,"  he  says,  taking  her  reluctant  hand  and  stoop- 
ing to  kiss  her,  "  I  want  to  say  something  to  you.  I  am  going 
to  blame,  not  you,  but  myself;  and  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me 
for  a  moment." 

"Well?"  remarks  Mignon,  in  a  tone  that  is  the  furthest 
remove  from  inviting  a  confidence. 

Sir  Tristram  does  not  feel  encouraged  ;  but  he  has  put  his 
hand  to  the  plough  and  must  go  on. 

"  I  have,"  he  proceeds,  with  some  nervous  hesitation,  "  as  I 
think  I  have  proved  to  you,  my  dear  child,  the  most  perfect 
confidence  in  you."  And  he  fills  up  the  pause  by  kissing  the 
slim  hand  that  is  perfectly  unresponsive. 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea  what  you  are  going  to  say," 
remarks  Mignon,  coolly,  "  but  I  am  perfectly  certain  that 
whatever  you  have  in  your  head  was  put  there  by  your  delight- 
ful friend  Mr.  Conyngham." 

Sir  Tristram  stands  convicted. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  says,  awkwardly,  "  but  what  was  there 
before.  Do  not  be  angry :  it  is  no  reflection  on  you :  on  the  con- 
trary, it  is  a  tribute  to  your  loveliness.  I  cannot  expect  that 
what  I  find  beautiful  and  sweet  will  not  seem  so  to  others." 

"  Pray  come  to  the  point,"  says  Mignon,  in  a  hard  voice, 
with  smouldering  fire  in  her  eyes.  "  Is  it  Lord  Threestars  or 
Mr.  L' Estrange?" 

"  My  dear,"  answers  Sir  Tristram,  already  feeling  a  touch 
of  remorse,  and  anxious  to  avoid  wounding  her  feelings  in  the 


MIGNON.  223 

smallest  degree,  "  no  one  is  more  glad  and  proud  than  I  am 
to  see  you  admired ;  but  you  are  so  young,  you  know  nothing 
about  the  world,  and  people  are  so  censorious." 

Mignon  is  all  ablaze  with  wrath  :  she  has  been  a  tyrant  ever 
since  her  marriage,  and  has  no  idea  of  yielding  up  a  fraction 
of  her  despotic  sway.  So  she  breaks  out, — 

"  That  hateful  man  has  been  telling  lies  about  me  !  that  is 
what  he  asked  you  to  dinner  for.  I  suspected  as  much.  He 
shall  never,  never  come  into  the  house  again  while  I  am  here. 
Why  did  you  marry  me  ?  You  know  I  did  not  want  to  marry 
you,  and  you  promised  me  that  I  should  do  just  as  I  liked  and 
go  everywhere  and  amuse  myself.  And  now  I  dare  say  you 
want  to  shut  me  up  and  keep  me  from  seeing  any  one ;  but  I 
will  kill  myself  first.  Send  me  home.  I  was  happy  before  I 
knew  you." 

Now,  if  Sir  Tristram  had  been  a  sensible  man  and  known 
how  to  manage  my  lady,  he  would  have  taken  her  at  her  word, 
and  said,  "  Very  well,  my  dear  :  if  you  think  you  would  be 
happier  at  home,  by  all  means  go  there ;"  and  Madame  Mignon, 
who  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  leaving  all  the  desirable  things 
her  husband  provided,  would  have  abated  somewhat  of  her  vio- 
lence, and  perhaps  become  humble  and  submissive.  It  is  a 
great  mercy  for  some  people  who  talk  big  and  bluster,  that 
others  don't  know  how  easily  they  might  be  brought  down  from 
their  pinnacle;  but,  then,  if  every  one  knew  how  to  manage 
every  one  else,  life  would  not  be  the  exciting  and  turbulent 
affair  it  is.  You,  for  instance,  madame,  when  you  have  quar- 
relled with  your  lover  and  bade  him  begone  and  never  see  you 
more,  you  know  that  did  he  but  get  as  far  as  the  hall  door  you 
would  make  some  excuse  to  call  him  back  ;  but  he,  poor  fellow ! 
does  not  know  it,  and  so,  instead  of  taking  his  hat  and  feign- 
ing to  depart,  he  remains  to  plead  and  to  be  browbeaten. 

So  in  the  case  of  Mignon  and  Sir  Tristram :  it  is  the  girl 
who  knows  how  to  manage  the  man,  and  the  man  of  the  world 
who  is  a  mere  plaything  in  the  girl's  hands. 

"  My  dearest,"  he  says,  penitently,  trying  to  take  her  in  his 
arms,  an  attention  which  she  most  vigorously  and  successfully 
resists,  "  what  you  say  is  true.  I  promised  you  you  should 
have  all  the  pleasure  I  could  procure  for  you  ;  and  I  will  keep 
my  word.  Henceforth,  do  as  you  please:  I  leave  my  honor 
in  your  hands :  I  will  never  interfere  with  you  again." 


224  MIONON. 

Mignon  completes  her  victory  by  a  burst  of  angry  tears,  and 
by  ordering  her  victim  out  of  her  sight.  When  he  is  gone, 
she  throws  her  lovely  head  upon  the  pillow,  and  in  five  min- 
utes is  sleeping  the  sleep  of  youth  and  innocence. 

I  can  imagine  I  hear  the  reader  say,  "  What  a  fool  the  man 
must  have  been  !"  But  pray,  sir,  if  you  were  never  made  a 
fool  of  by  a  lovely  woman  yourself,  have  you  not  read  of  many 
brave  and  wise  and  gallant  gentlemen  who  have  been  ? 

The  next  day  is  Sunday.  Mignon  takes  her  breakfast  in 
bed,  and  declines  to  accompany  her  husband  to  church.  At 
lunch  she  sulks,  and  behaves  as  though,  instead  of  being  the 
most  indulgent,  generous  husband  in  the  world,  he  were  a 
cruel  tyrant.  Raymond  comes  in  presently,  and — will  any 
one  believe  it  ? — in  his  anxiety  to  propitiate  his  lovely  wife, 
Sir  Tristram  proposes  that  they  shall  all  three  drive  down  to 
Richmond  and  dine.  Unkind  fate  ordains  that  Fred  Conyng- 
ham  shall  also  be  dining  with  a  select  party  at  the  Star  and 
Garter,  and  that  he  shall  come  full  tilt  on  Raymond  and 
Mignon  pensively  contemplating  the  silver  Thames  from  one 
of  the  terraces.  Mignon,  hearing  footsteps,  turns,  and  sees 
Mr.  Conyngham,  who  lifts  his  hat.  She  looks  him  full  in  the 
face,  "  tiptilts"  her  charming,  impertinent  nose,  and  cuts  him 
dead.  Fred  understands  all,  and  groans  in  spirit. 

"  Lend  me  a  pencil !"  he  says  to  the  man  who  is  with  him. 
"  I  want  to  write  myself  'an  ass.'  " 

"  Why?"  asks  his  companion. 

"  Because,  on  the  strength  of  thirty-five  years'  friendship, 
I  gave  a  man  some  good  advice.  Hear  my  vow  !"  And  he 
strikes  a  tragic  attitude.  "  By  every  gudgeon  in  the  Thames, 
by  every  separate  whitebait  cooked  to-night,  by  every  hair  in 
Mademoiselle  Zephine's  golden  chignon,  by  every  drop  of  wine 
that  will  make  to-night's  feast  cursed  in  the  memory  to-mor- 
row, I  swear  never  to  breathe  one  word  of  counsel  to  any 
human  being  from  this  time  forth  !" 

"  Amen  !"  responds  the  other :  "  it  is  the  only  way  to  get 
through  life,  and  I  should  have  given  you  credit  for  knowing 
that  better  than  most  men." 

Minion's  perversity,  for  which,  however,  she  must  not  be 
too  severely  condemned,  since  it  is  a  failing  particularly  com- 
mon to  man  in  his  fallen  estate,  causes  her  to  regard  Raymond 
with  more  than  usual  interest,  and  to  treat  him  with  a  kind- 


MIGNON.  225 

ness  and  gentleness  that  make  him,  as  Balzac  says,  "  entrevoir 
les  roses  du  septieme  del." 

And  Sir  Tristram  looks  on  and  smiles,  and  stifles  down  the 
pain  that  gnaws  his  generous  heart  as  he  watches  them 
together  and  feels  that  in  their  youth  and  beauty  they  are 
fitly  matched.  The  thought  that  in  a  few  days'  time  they  are 
to  leave  London  for  Bergholt  Court  brings  little  consolation 
with  it :  Raymond's  place  is  barely  five  miles  distant,  and  he 
will  have  even  more  opportunity  of  being  with  Mignon  and 
alone  with  her  than  he  has  in  London. 

It  is  arranged  that  they  leave  for  the  North  the  first  week 
in  July ;  and  the  idea  of  seeing  her  stately  home,  and  of  the 
reception  to  be  given  them  by  the  neighbors  and  tenants,  has 
prevented  Mignon  regretting  the  gayeties  she  will  leave 
behind.  She  will  be  a  very  grand  personage  on  this  occa- 
sion ;  indeed,  it  will  be  almost  a  royal  progress ;  and  she  will 
apparel  herself  beautifully,  and  bestow  liberal  and  most  gracious 
smiles  on  all  around,  and  win  the  heart  of  every  beholder. 
As  she  drives  in  the  Park,  she  studies  the  manner  of  the  most 
gracious  princess  in  the  world,  and  finds  herself  practising 
those  sweet  little  bows  in  private  which  she  will  accompany 
with  the  sunniest  smiles. 

I  spare  the  reader  details  of  how  all  these  anticipations  were 
carried  out:  was  it  not  chronicled  in  many  columns  of  the 
county  paper,  abridged  in  the  Court  Journal  and  many  other 
fashionable  papers  ?  Mignon  cut  it  all  out  and  put  it  in  her 
desk,  along  with  the  announcement  of  her  presentation  at 
Court,  and  various  paragraphs  mentioning  her  name,  with 
those  of  other  great  people,  at  various  fashionable  and  impor- 
tant reunions.  She  read  with  great  satisfaction  of  "  the  ex- 
quisite beauty  of  Lady  Bergholt,  enhanced  by  the  most  be- 
witching of  toilettes,"  of  "  the  angelic  sweetness  of  her  smile, 
which,  if  for  once  appearances  might  be  judged  by,  must,  in 
the  possession  of  so  amiable  and  lovely  a  partner,  make  Sir 
Tristram  the  happiest  and  most  enviable  man  in  Christendom." 

For  the  first  few  days,  pleased  with  the  excitement,  and 
dazzled  by  the  magnitude  of  her  possessions,  Mignon  was 
radiant  with  pleasure  and  good  temper.  It  was  Sir  Tristram's 
turn  to  "  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  roses  in  the  seventh  heaven  ;" 
and,  indeed,  it  was  the  very  happiest  time  he  had  spent  since 
his  marriage :  "  in  his  lifetime,"  he  told  himself. 

K* 


22G  MIGNON. 

But  when  the  novelty  had  worn  off,  when  "  custom"  had 
"  staled"  the  variety,  Mignon  began  to  yawn. 

"  Couldn't  we  have  some  people  to  stay  ?"  she  asks  her 
husband  at  breakfast  one  morning ;  and,  with  this,  a  cloud 
draws  over  the  blue  gates  of  his  heaven  and  shuts  out  the 
sight  of  the  roses.  His  programme  had  been  to  have  Mignon 
all  to  himself  for  one  happy  fortnight,  then  to  ask  her  family 
for  a  month,  during  which  time  there  would  doubtless  be  ex- 
changes of  civilities  and  hospitalities  between  the  other  county 
families  and  themselves,  and  then  a  succession  of  visitors  in 
the  house  for  shooting. 

"  One  cannot  very  well  ask  people  at  this  time,  when  there 
is  nothing  to  do  in  the  country,"  he  answers,  with  a  shade  of 
disappointment  which  he  feels  it  impossible  to  conceal. 

"  It  was  a  great  mistake,"  says  Mignon,  her  face  clouding, 
"  being  in  such  a  hurry  to  come  here.  A  month  later  would 
have  done  quite  as  well,  and  we  should  not  have  missed  Good- 
wood and  Cowes." 

"  Your  people  will  be  coming  in  a  week,"  remarks  her  hus- 
band, trying  to  speak  cheerfully. 

"  One's  family  is  always  so  very  enlivening,"  retorts  Mignon, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  And  you  want  to  learn  to  ride  and  drive,  you  know,  before 
your  guests  come.  Your  horse  arrives  to-day,  and  the  cobs 
to-morrow." 

"  What  on  earth  shall  I  do  all  day  ?"  says  Mignon,  pushing 
back  her  chair  and  yawning.  "  Only  ten  minutes  to  eleven  !" 

"Don't  ladies  sometimes  do  needlework?"  asks  Sir  Tris- 
tram, diffidently. 

"  Needlework !"  (contemptuously).  "  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Hemming  dusters,  or  making  clothes  for  the  poor?" 

"  No :  I  mean  what  I  think  you  call  fancy  work, — cutting 
out  holes  and  sewing  them  up  again,  or  wool-work.  My 
mother  worked  all  the  chairs  in  the  morning  room." 

"  Ah  !"  says  Mignon,  dryly ;  "  her  picture  gives  me  exactly 
that  idea :  she  looks  like  a  woman  who  would  do  wool-work. 
I  dare  say  she  had  Dorcas  meetings,  and  superintended  the 
village  school." 

"  My  love,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  gravely,  "  my  mother  is  a 
very  sacred  subject  with  me." 

Mignon  has  not  a  grain  of  veneration. 


MIGNON.  227 

"  Well,"  she  laughs,  "is  there  anything  profane  in  supposing 
that  she  occupied  herself  with  good  works  ?" 

"  I  wish,  darling,"  he  remarks,  "  that  your  inclination  lay  a 
little  more  that  way." 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not  begin  that  twaddle  !"  she  exclaims,  with 
a  gesture  of  disgust.  "  Of  course  you  are  getting  old,  and  it 
is  natural  you  should  take  a  serious  view  of  things ;  but,  for 
heaven's  sake,  don't  make  me  more  dull  and  wretched  than  I 
am  already,  by  lecturing  me." 

Dull  and  wretched !  Poor  Sir  Tristram !  0  men  who  have 
passed  your  meridian,  take  warning,  and,  if  you  would  not 
know  such  pain  as  those  words  gave  their  hearer,  do  not  seek 
a  lovely,  mischievous  young  girl  of  seventeen  to  wife ! 

The  door  opens  :  enter  the  butler. 

"  If  you  please,  my  lady,  Mr.  L'Estrange  is  in  the  morning 
room." 

Mignon  claps  her  hands. 

"  This  is  delightful !"  she  cries,  rushing  to  the  glass  and 
taking  a  coquettish  survey  of  her  appearance,  perfectly  un- 
mindful of  the  indecorum  of  a  married  woman  being  so  jubilant 
at  the  announcement  of  a  male  visitor. 

She  trips  off,  all  smiles. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  cries,  cordially,  putting  out 
both  hands  to  him  ;  "  this  is  an  agreeable  surprise.  I  was  on 
the  point  of  committing  suicide.  I  am  glad  !" 

For  the  punishment  of  his  sins,  Sir  Tristram,  who  has 
followed  her,  hears  the  last  two  sentences. 


228  MIQNON. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"PHILASTER and  preach  to  Birds  and  Beasts. 

What  Woman  is,  and  help  to  save  them  from  you. 

How  Ileav'n  is  in  your  Eyes,  but,  in  your  Hearts 

More  Hell  than  Hell  has;  how  your  Tongues,  like  Scorpions, 

Both  heal  and  poison ;  how  your  Thoughts  are  woven 

With  thousand  Changes  in  one  subtle  Web, 

And  worn  so  by  you.     How  that  foolish  Man 

That  reads  the  Story  of  a  Woman's  Face, 

And  dies  believing  it,  is  lost  forever. 

How  all  the  Good  you  have,  is  but  a  Shadow, 

T  the  Morning  with  you,  and  at  Night  behind  you, 

Past  and  forgotten.     How  your  vows  are  Frosts, 

Fast  for  a  Night,  and  with  the  next  Sun  gone. 

How  you  are,  being  taken  altogether, 

A  mere  Confusion,  and  so  dead  a  Chaos 

That  Love  cannot  distinguish." 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

RAYMOND  had  been  looking  forward  with  intense  eager- 
ness to  this  meeting.  Infatuated,  absorbed  with  one  idea,  he 
had  come  to  call  evil  good,  and  good  evil.  His  mind  was  sat- 
urated with  Mussetism,  with  Swinburneism,  with  Gauthier- 
ism,  with  every  ism  that  makes  passion  a  god,  and  sacrifice  to 
it  the  true  worship.  The  order  of  things  was  inverted  with 
him  :  generosity,  honor,  self-abnegation,  seemed  weak,  puerile 
qualities,  strength  was  yielding  to  what  he  chose  to  call  Fate. 
That  his  love  would  triumph  he  never  for  an  instant  doubted : 
he  put  into  the  scale  his  youth,  his  ardor,  his  personal  advan- 
tages, and  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  Sir  Tristram  could  offer 
only  amounted  to  the  weight  of  a  feather  against  a  pound  of 
gold.  There  is  a  very  familiar  old  proverb  about  reckoning 
without  one's  host :  it  applied  with  great  force  in  the  present 
instance. 

Mignon  was  utterly  devoid  of  sentiment.  Like  a  cat,  she 
loved  things  more  than  people ;  her  own  comfort  best  of  all. 
Now,  a  woman  who  leaves  her  husband  for  love  of  another 
man  must  needs  be  a  very  wicked  woman,  but  she  must  also 
have  the  redeeming  qualities,  strong  affections,  and  a  certain 
amount  of  unselfishness  ;  for  what  woman  breathing  does  not 


MIGNON.  229 

know  that  by  such  a  step  she  wrecks  and  blasts  her  whole 
future  and  (unless  she  is  utterly  bad  and  callous)  is  poisoning 
every  drop  of  the  cup  of  life  left  her  to  drink  ?  Mignon  loved 
herself  with  a  love  far  more  perfect  and  entire  than  Raymond  or 
any  one  else  could  offer  her.  She  had  as  much  idea  of  sacri- 
ficing her  future  and  her  position  to  love  as  she  had  of  flinging 
her  diamonds  out  of  window,  like  Queen  Guinevere,  who,  by 
the  way,  must  have  sorely  rued  that  rash  act  in  calmer  mo- 
ments. She  liked  Raymond :  he  amused  her ;  it  diverted  her 
inexpressibly,  too,  to  torment  him  and  see  him  writhe  under 
the  lash  of  her  pitiless  tongue.  She  regarded  him  rather  as  a 
handsome  pendant  to  herself:  his  dark,  clear-cut  beauty  set 
hers  off  admirably.  She  liked  to  see  herself  reflected  in  a 
pier-glass  with  him,  and  had  said  once,  jestingly, — 

"  What  a  charming  couple  we  make  ! — quite  a  study  for 
Faust  and  Marguerite." 

The  most  moral  and  severe  reader  may  be  quite  easy  about 
Mignon :  her  virtue  is  as  unquestionable  as  that  of  any  saint 
in  the  calendar,  if  virtue  consists  in  the  inability  to  feel  tempta- 
tion as  well  as  to  wage  stern  and  bitter  warfare  against  it. 

Raymond's  visits  became  almost  of  daily  recurrence  at  the 
Court :  indeed,  if  he  misses  a  day,  Mignon  is  dull,  and  girds 
at  him  on  his  next  appearance.  Sir  Tristram  is  miserable. 
He  feels  he  has  acted  foolishly  and  wrongly ;  he  is  ashamed 
of  his  cowardice,  and  yet  he  has  not  the  courage  to  put  a 
stop  to  what  is  becoming  so  marked  a  thing  as  to  excite  at- 
tention. He  hates  to  see  them  alone ;  he  hates  more  to  seem 
suspicious,  and  to  thrust  his  evidently  undesired  company 
upon  them  ;  he  feels  tormented  by  jealousy  ;  and  yet  he  does 
not  believe  for  an  instant  that  his  wife  entertains  any  real  feel- 
ing for  Raymond.  He  begins  to  treat  the  young  man  with 
some  coldness,  at  which  Mignon,  who  is  not  slow  to  notice  his 
altered  manner,  redoubles  her  own  kindness. 

It  might  be  reassuring  to  Sir  Tristram  could  he  witness  the 
merciless  snubs  Lady  Goldenlocks  bestows  on  her  adorer  in 
private.  Raymond  is  prone  to  be  melancholy,  Byronic,  sen- 
timental ;  but  that  is  a  very  dim  cult  role  to  play  with  a  fair 
one  who  has  not  a  grain  of  romance  in  her  composition,  but 
who  has  unlimited  powers  of  turning  the  most  pathetic,  not 
to  say  sacred,  subjects  into  ridicule.  By  sacred  I  do  not,  in 
this  instance,  mean  religious. 

20 


230  MIONON. 

Raymond  is  beginning  to  lose  patience.  He  will  not  be- 
lieve that  Mignon,  in  her  heart,  fails  to  reciprocate  his  senti- 
ments ;  in  her  levity  he  only  sees  a  phase  of  that  coquetry 
which  his  study  of  the  sex,  under  the  auspices  of  his  favorite 
authors,  has  taught  him  to  believe  is  an  unfailing  attribute  of 
feminine  character. 

One  day  they  are  sitting  together  in  Mignon's  boudoir. 
Raymond  has  been  fractious  and  petulant,  and  Mignon  is  be- 
ginning to  be  bored  by  his  airs. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  my  coming  here  day  after  day?"  he 
breaks  out,  throwing  back  his  handsome  head  and  looking  a 
very  good  study  for  a  fallen  angel.  "  I  do  not  believe  you 
care  two  straws  about  me." 

"Well,  not  very  much,"  assents  Mignon,  placidly.  "I 
cannot  make  up  my  mind,  though,  which  bores  me  the  most 
— to  be  alone,  or  to  be  with  you  when  you  are  in  one  of  your 
tempers.  I  wish  Lord  Threestars  were  here !  he  is  never  in 
a  temper." 

"  And  you  dare  say  this  to  me !"  cries  Raymond,  starting 
up  in  a  fury. 

My  lady  looks  at  him  with  a  saucy  smile  and  not  a  shadow 
of  alarm. 

" '  I  dare  all  that  man  may  do ; 
He  that  dares  more  is ' 

something  or  other,  I  forget  what.  I  read  that  in  a  book  last 
week." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  cries  Raymond,  in  a  white  heat  of 
passion,  "  that,  after  you  have  given  me  all  this  encourage- 
ment, you  prefer  Lord  Threestars  ?" 

"  Encouragement  1"  laughs  Mignon.  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  encouragement?  Is  nearly  going  into  convulsions  over 
your  ridiculous  sentimental  airs  encouragement?  is  yawning, 
till  I  expect  every  minute  to  have  lock-jaw,  when  you  spout 
poetry,  encouragement  ?  is  telling  you  I  would  not  have  mar- 
ried you  if  you  were  Emperor  of  China  and  had  a  million  a 
year,  encouragement  ?" 

Raymond  stands  aghast.  At  this  moment  he  hates  that 
lovely,  laughing  face  with  a  bitter  hatred :  he  feels  a  furious 
desire  to  mar  its  mocking  beauty  and  save  himself  and  all 
other  men  in  the  future  the  fate  of  loving  it  and  being  heart- 
broken about  it. 


MIGNON.  231 

"Thank  you,"  lie  says,  icily :  "you  shall  have  no  more  oc- 
casion to  give  me  encouragement  or  the  reverse.  Believe  me, 
I  am  perfectly  desittusionne. 

'My  heart  will  never  ache  or  break 
For  your  heart's  sake.' " 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  answers  Mignon,  placidly; 
then,  as  he  walks  with  slow  and  bitter  majesty  to  the  door, 
she  runs  nimbly  and  places  her  back  to  it.  "  Don't  be  a 
goose  1"  she  says,  with  eyes  brimful  of  laughter. 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  be  one  no  longer,"  he  answers,  in  a 
tragic  voice.  "  Lady  Bergholt,  will  you  permit  me  to  pass  ?" 

"  I  adore  a  goose,"  says  my  lady,  mischievously, — "  particu- 
larly when  it  is  stuffed  with  onions.  That  reminds  me — on 
the  whole,  I  prefer  you  to  Lord  Threestars :  he  cannot  bear  to 
see  a  woman  eat.  I  would  not  marry  him  for  all  the  world. 
Fancy  your  husband  objecting  to  your  enjoying  your  dinner. 
Why,  there  isn't  a  man  in  the  world  I  would  go  without  my 
dinner  to  please." 

"  What  would  you  sacrifice  for  any  man?"  asks  Raymond, 
bitterly.  "  A  hair  of  your  golden  head  ?  or  the  pleasure  of 
hurting  his  feelings?  or  what  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  replies  Mignon,  reflectively. 
"  Fortunately,  I  am  not  put  to  the  test.  Sir  Tristram  makes 
all  the  sacrifices,  and  never  expects  any  from  me :  that  is  the 
sort  of  husband  I  like." 

Raymond  takes  both  her  hands  with  a  fierce  gesture. 

"  Is  that  true  ?"  he  says  ;  "  are  you  so  contented  ?  do  you 
never  feel  an  unsatisfied  longing,  a  hunger  of  the  heart  ?  do 
you  never  realize  how  empty  wealth,  title,  riches,  all  are  without 
love?" 

"  Never,"  Mignon  answers,  frankly.  "  The  only  hunger 
I  ever  feel  is  bodily.  I  am  very  hungry  at  this  moment, 
and  it  is  past  lunch-time.  Come,  let  us  go  into  the  dining- 
room." 

"  Good-by !"  utters  Raymond,  with  gloomy  scorn. 

"  Nonsense  !"  retorts  my  lady.  "  Pate  de  fbie  gras  is  much 
more  satisfying  than  a  fit  of  the  sulks,  and  iced  sauterne  than 
a  ride  in  the  broiling  sun.  Besides,  if  you  quarrelled  with  me, 
you  would  miss  me  dreadfully,  and  be  at  your  wit's  end  how 
to  get  through  the  day." 


232  MIONON. 

"  I  can  put  a  thousand  miles  between  myself  and  you,"  says 
Raymond,  coldly. 

"  To  be  sure  you  can ;  but  distance  would  only  lend  enchant- 
ment to  the  view.  A  thousand  miles  off,  you  would  think  me 
an  angel  and  yourself  a  donkey.  And  it  would  punish  you 
ten  times  more  than  it  would  me." 

"  No  doubt,"  sneers  Raymond. 

"  Don't  look  like  that !  it  does  not  suit  your  style  of  beauty. 
There  is  the  gong.  Come  and  have  lunch." 

"  No,  thank  you"  (in  a  freezing  tone). 

"  Think  how  pleased  Sir  Tristram  would  be  if  you  went  off 
in  a  huff."  And  Mignon  laughs  mischievously.  So  Ray- 
mond stays. 

The  right-minded  historian  and  dramatist  always  shows  how 
virtue  triumphs  and  vice  is  punished.  In  the  present  instance 
I  shall  be  pointing  a  moral  and  telling  the  truth  when  I  aver 
that  there  was  no  more  miserable  man  in  all  the  British  domin- 
ions than  Raymond  L'Estrange  about  this  period  of  his  exist- 
ence. As  for  Mignon,  with  the  exception  of  being  a  little 
bored,  she  was  as  happy  and  free  from  care  as  it  falls  to  the  lot 
of  most  people  to  be  who  have  an  excellent  digestion,  no  heart, 
and  no  responsibility. 

The  week  following,  the  Carlyle  family  arrived,  all  except 
Gerry,  who  was  not  to  come  till  the  10th  of  August.  Sir  Tris- 
tram had  a  few  grouse  on  his  moor,  but  not  enough  to  make 
it  worth  while  to  invite  a  party.  His  own  gun  and  his  father- 
and  brother-in-law's  would  be  quite  enough.  The  arrival  of 
his  wife's  relatives  was  an  immense  relief  to  him  :  besides  the 
pleasure  his  kind  heart  gave  him  in  making  them  welcome,  it 
was  a  great  satisfaction  to  him  to  think  that  Mignon's  tete-d-tete 
with  Raymond  would  be  put  an  end  to. 

Lady  Bergholt  received  her  family  with  extreme  graciousness : 
it  was  delightful  to  her  to  show  herself  to  them  as  such  an  im- 
portant personage.  She  took  every  opportunity  of  parading 
her  advantages  before  them  with  the  want  of  delicacy  common 
to  minds  not  generous :  she  apparelled  herself  gorgeously,  and 
decked  herself  with  jewels.  But  her  family,  with  perhaps  the 
exception  of  Regina,  were  quite  ready  to  rejoice  in  her  triumph, 
to  admire,  to  sympathize,  and  to  exult  in  her  greatness. 

Raymond  kept  away  for  a  few  days,  chafing  furiously  the 
while,  and  making  himself  eminently  disagreeable  to  his  poor 


MIONON.  233 

mother.  Mignon,  who  was  getting  tired  of  the  companion- 
ship of  her  own  people,  now  she  had  exhibited  all  her  mag- 
nificence to  them,  wrote  and  asked  him  to  dinner.  Perhaps 
she  wished  to  show  them  the  only  possession  they  had  not 
seen  (in  the  light  of  a  possession  at  least).  At  dinner  he  made 
himself  extremely  agreeable,  and  was  not  demonstrative ;  but 
when  he  joined  the  ladies  in  the  drawing-room,  either  his  dis- 
cretion had  worn  off,  or  the  wine  he  had  drunk  made  him  in- 
different to  any  opinions  he  might  provoke.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  Mignon  felt  a  shadow  of  uneasiness  under  the 
glances  which  his  dark  eyes  flashed  upon  her. 

"  Sing  us  something,"  she  said,  at  last,  in  an  impatient, 
imperious  tone.  "  Regina  will  play  for  you." 

"  Will  not  you  ?"  he  murmured,  looking  languorously  down 
upon  her. 

"  No"  (abruptly).  "  I  hate  playing  accompaniments,  and 
you  know  I  never  give  you  time  to  get  all  your  expression  in" 
(with  a  little  sneer). 

Raymond  strolled  to  the  piano,  and  selected  the  "  Chanson 
de  Fortunio,"  set  to  Offenbach's  music.  I  don't  know  whether 
the  poor,  love-lorn  lad,  when  he  sang  to  Jacqueline,  kept  his 
eyes  from  betraying  him  or  belying  the  words  of  his  song :  if 
he  did,  Raymond  was  far  from  imitating  him.  When  he 

S|  "  Que  je  1'adore,  et  qu'elle  est  blonde 

Comme  les  b!6s/' — 

he  looked  steadfastly  at  Mignon ;  and  when  he  came  to  the 
concluding  verse, — 

"  Mais  j'aime  trop  pour  quo  je  die> 

Qui  j'ose  aimer, 

Et  je  veux  mourir  pour  ma  mie, 
Sans  la  nommer/' — 

it  was  sufficiently  evident  to  every  one  present  for  whom  he 
was  expressing  his  willingness  to  die.  Each  member  of  the 
Carlyle  family  felt  horribly  embarrassed.  As  for  the  father, 
he  would  have  liked  nothing  so  much  as  to  kick  the  impudent 
puppy  out  of  the  door.  Mrs.  Carlyle  looked  frightened,  Mary 
pained,  Regina  arched  her  eyebrows.  Sii  \fristrarn  alone 
seemed  not  to  remark  anything. 

Mignon,  whose  perceptions  in  some  things  were  remarkably 
20* 


234  MIGNON. 

quick,  observed  the  effect  that  was  produced  on  her  family, 
and  felt  angry  with  Raymond  for  putting  her  in  an  embar- 
rassing position. 

"  What  a  stupid  song !"  she  said,  as  he  finished  ;  "  not  that 
I  understand  half  of  it,  but  I  conclude,  from  the  way  yon 
turned  up  your  eyes,  that  it  was  something  very  sentimental. 
Can't  you  sing  us  a  comic  song  ?  I  like  those  much  better." 

"I  am  sorry  I  cannot  oblige  you,"  answered  Raymond, 
stiffly,  turning  away  to  conceal  his  mortification. 

It  was  a  relief  to  every  one  when,  soon  afterwards,  he  took 
his  departure. 

Captain  Carlyle  meditated  long  and  earnestly  that  night. 
Mignon  must  be  spoken  to,  but  by  whom  ?  Not  himself,  cer- 
tainly: he  had  no  intention  of  exciting  the  defiance  which 
had  only  just  fallen  to  slumber.  No,  he  told  himself  firmly, 
so  delicate  a  matter  came  within  the  province  of  a  mother : 
let  her  mother  look  to  it. 

He  laid  his  commands  upon  Mrs.  Carlyle.  She,  poor 
woman,  entreated  to  be  excused,  but  her  lord  was  firm.  The 
mother,  feeling  how  hopeless  was  the  task,  drew  her  eldest 
daughter  into  her  counsels.  Mary  loved  Mignon :  she  had, 
besides,  an  immense  regard  for  Sir  Tristram,  but  stronger  than 
every  other  feeling  was  her  sense  of  duty.  The  task  was  a 
painful  one ;  but  she  thought  over  it,  prayed  over  it,  and 
gathered  up  all  her  courage.  It  seems  odd  that  a  girl  of 
eighteen,  with  a  face  as  fair  as  an  angel's  and  as  candid  as  a 
child's,  could  inspire  as  much  awe  of  contradicting  her  as  Mig- 
non ;  but  perhaps  the  reader  may  know  of  some  parallel  case 
that  may  help  to  make  it  more  intelligible  to  him. 

It  was  the  morning  but  one  after  Raymond  had  dined,  and 
Mary  followed  her  sister  to  her  boudoir. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  in  her  kind,  grave  voice,  kissing  the 
peach-like  cheek,  "  do  you  know  I  think  you  are  a  very 
fortunate  girl  ?" 

"Yes?"  (with  a  little  gesture  of  indifference.)  "Well,  I 
suppose  I  am." 

"  You  have  everything  heart  can  desire." 

Mignon  looked  as  though,  if  it  were  not  too  much  trouble, 
Bhe  would  dissent  from  so  broad  a  proposition. 

"  The  kindest  husband  in  the  world." 

Mignon  conjectured  dimly  what  was  coming. 


MIGNON.  235 

"Yes,"  she  said,  turning  to  look  at  Mary,  and  speaking 
half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest ;  "  but  the  thing  I  am  most  thank- 
ful of  all  for  is  that  I  am  my  own  mistress"  (with  great  decis- 
ion), "  and  that  no  one  has  any  right  to  interfere  with  me  or 
to  lecture  me." 

"  Not  those  who  love  you  with  all  their  hearts  ?"  whispered 
Mary,  in  a  low  voice,  looking  tenderly  in  Mignon's  clear  blue 
eyes.  "  Have  those  who  have  your  welfare  most  at  heart  no 
right  to  say  a  word  of  warning  if  they  think  that  in  your  inno- 
cence and  inexperience  you  stand  in  need  of  it  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Mignon,  irritably. 

"  I  mean,"  replied  Mary,  quickly,  "  that  I  think  it  is  pain- 
ful to  Sir  Tristram  to  see  Mr.  L'Estrange  treat  you  in  the 
manner  he  does,  although  he  is  too  delicate  and  generous  even 
to  seem  to  notice  it." 

"  Did  he  ask  you  to  tell  me  this?"  cried  Mignon,  with  a 
rebellious  flush. 

"  My  dear,  I  think  you  must  know  him  too  well  to  imagine 
that  what  he  is  too  delicate  to  say  to  you  he  would  be  likely 
to  mention  to  others." 

"  Then  /think,"  said  Mignon,  firing  up,  "  it  would  be  well 
if  other  people  imitated  his  delicacy  and  allowed  me  to  manage 
my  own  affairs." 

"  Mignon  !"  cried  Mary,  imploringly. 

But  my  lady  is  quite  incapable  of  brooking  interference : 
she  has  been  accustomed  to  find  her  word  law  and  her  sover- 
eign will  undisputed  so  long  that  a  word  of  reproof  or  admoni- 
tion is  an  unpardonable  impertinence  in  her  eyes.  As  ill 
fortune  would  have  it,  who  should  appear  in  the  doorway  at 
this  very  moment  but  Raymond ! 

"  Talk  of  the  devil  and  you  see  his  horns  I"  cried  Mignon, 
with  a  laugh.  "  You  are  not  so  much  like  him,  though,  this 
morning  as  you  are  sometimes :  you  look  quite  good-tempered." 

Two  little  red  spots  of  anger  are  still  burning  on  her  cheeks : 
she  feels  in  that  reckless  mood  which  sometimes. seems  to  indi- 
cate high  spirits  in  young  people.  To  those  who  understand 
them,  however,  it  is  a  mood  that  generally  lies  nearer  tears  than 
laughter :  it  is  an  angry  disturbance  of  their  pride  and  mighti- 
ness, and  a  secret  consciousness  of  being  in  the  wrong. 

Those  are  the  moods  in  which  the  young  love  to  shock  and 
surprise  their  grave  elders ;  and  if  the  elders  remembered  some 


236  MIQNON. 

such  feeling  of  their  own  youth,  and  were  sympathetic  and 
tender  instead  of  being  cold  and  reproving,  the  masterful  young 
ones  would  soon  come  down  off  their  pinnacle  of  folly. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?"  continued  Mignon,  all  in  a  breath  : 
"  my  sister  was  just  saying  how  handsome  you  were,  and  that 
she  almost  wondered  I  did  not  fall  in  love  with  and  run  away 
with  you." 

Raymond,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  conjectured  that 
Miss  Carlyle  had  been  saying  something  of  a  very  different 
nature. 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  proceeded  Mignon,  still  laughing,  and 
speaking  in  a  loud  key,  "  that  Mary  adores  Sir  Tristram  : 
they  would  have  made  a  nice,  respectable  old  couple,  would 
they  not?" 

"  I  think  they  would  have  suited  each  other  admirably," 
answered  Raymond. 

Mary  looked  up  at  him  with  some  displeasure,  and  observed, 
with  gentle  dignity, — 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  there  are  some  subjects  on  which 
it  is  better,  taste  not  to  jest?" 

But  Raymond  was  as  difficult  to  abash  as  even  Mignon. 

"  Lady  Bergholt  asked  me  a  question,  and  I  believe  polite- 
ness, not  to  say  good  taste,  required  me  to  answer  it.  I  agree 
with  her  that  you  and  Sir  Tristram  would  have  made  an 
admirable  pair,  even  more  suitable,  if  she  will  permit  me  to 
say  so"  (with  an  ill-concealed  sneer),  "  than  Sir  Tristram  and 
herself." 

Mary  felt  exceedingly  indignant :  she  would  have  liked  to 
get  up  and  go  out  of  the  room,  but  thought  it  wrong  to  leave 
him  alone  with  Mignon. 

But  my  lady  took  the  law  into  her  own  hands. 

"  Come,  Raymond,"  she  said,  gayly,  "  let  us  go  into  the 
garden." 

This  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called  him  by  his  name. 
It  was  a  continuation  of  her  "  high  spirits."  When  the  door 
was  closed  upon  them,  he  took  her  hand  eagerly. 

"I  am  in  love  with  my  name  when  I  hear  it  from  your 
sweet  lips,"  he  whispered. 

"  Bah !"  she  said,  snatching  it  from  him ;  "  I  only  said  it  to 
vex  Mary.  And  I  don't  think  it  the  least  pretty :  it  is  as 
stupid  and  romantic  as  my  own." 


MIGNON.  237 

Raymond,  being  so  smartly  snubbed,  did  not  find  his  tongue 
again  until  they  were  out  in  the  garden. 

"  Your  sister  seems  a  fine  specimen  of  the  genus  old  maid," 
he  remarked,  feeling  a  grudge  against  poor  Mary  for  trying  to 
do  her  duty. 

"  My  sister  is  an  angel,"  retorted  Mignon,  fiercely,  "  and 
you  are  not  fit  to  wipe  the  dust  off  her  shoes." 

Here  was  the  beginning  of  a  very  pretty  quarrel ;  but  at 
this  juncture  Mignon  observed  her  father  coming  rapidly 
towards  them,  and  the  demon  of  mischief  returned  upon  her 
fourfold. 

"  He  is  coming  to  spoil  sport.  Quick  !  quick !"  she  cried, 
and,  before  Raymond  knew  what  she  was  about,  Mignon 
caught  him  by  the  arm,  dragged  him  down  the  steep  green 
slope  of  the  terrace,  and  flew  like  a  young  deer  across  the 
lawn  and  towards  the  wood,  Raymond  following  with  an 
irritable  sense  of  impaired  dignity. 

Captain  Carlyle,  surveying  the  flying  pair,  who  would  have 
made  a  charming  study  for  Atalanta  and  Hippoinenes,  launched 
after  them  a  most  unpaternal  anathema,  and  retired  to  the 
house  to  pour  out  the  vials  of  his  wrath  upon  his  unhappy 
wife. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  my  definition  of  marriage  ?  It  is,  that  it  resembles 
a  pair  of  shears,  so  joined  that  they  cannot  be  separated,  often  moving 
in  opposite  directions,  yet  always  punishing  any  one  who  comes  between 
them." 

SYDNEY  SMITH. 

THE  Carlyle  family  were  very  uneasy  indeed.  Sir  Tristram 
continued  to  give  no  sign,  and  Mr.  L'Estrange  made  Bergholt 
Court  his  home  as  it  pleased  him.  It  was  not  that  Mignon's 
father,  mother,  or  sisters  thought  she  was  in  danger  of  losing 
her  heart :  truth  to  tell,  they  had  very  limited  faith  in  that  por- 
tion of  her  anatomy ;  but  they  saw  that  she  was  by  way  of 
compromising  her  dignity  and  making  herself  the  subject  of 
remark,  and  this,  they  were  well  aware,  would  endanger  her 


238  MIGNOX. 

position  in  the  county.  They  held  solemn  conclaves  on  the 
subject :  each  wished  to  delegate  to  the  other  the  unpleasant 
task  of  remonstrating  with  the  perverse  beauty.  Mary  felt  no 
courage  to  resume  the  subject,  after  the  manner  in  which 
Mignon  had  flouted  her  remarks  before. 

"  Wait  till  Gerry  comes,"  advised  llegina  :  "  he  is  the  only 
one  of  us  who  dares  to  speak  to  her.  She  will  listen  to  any- 
thing from  him." 

"Wait!"  grumbled  Captain  Carlyle ;  "  wait  until  the  silly 
girl's  name  is  in  every  mouth,  and  people  are  beginning  to 
look  coldly  upon  her." 

"  Well,  then,  papa,"  retorted  Regina,  "  why  do  not  you  speak 
to  her?" 

Captain  Carlyle  was  silent.  He  was  dreadfully  afraid  of 
offending  his  youngest  daughter.  He  liked  his  quarters  at 
Bergholt ;  he  liked  the  prospect  of  all  the  shooting  he  was  to 
get  there ;  and  he  knew  perfectly  that  if  he  made  himself 
obnoxious  to  Mignon  this  would  be  his  first  and  last  visit.  So 
he  elected  to  take  llegina's  advice  and  wait  for  Gerry. 

Now,  if  there  was  one  human  being  whom  Lady  Bergholt 
loved  with  any  approximation  to  the  devotion  she  felt  for  her- 
self, it  was  her  twin  brother.  She  loved  him  even  more  since 
she  chose  to  consider  that  she  had  made  such  a  gigantic  sacri- 
fice for  him.  She  could  think  and  talk  of  nothing  else  for 
days  before  he  came :  his  very  name  was  a  weariness  to  Ray- 
mond's flesh  :  he  grew  sulky  under  Mignon's  continued  rhap- 
sodies, which,  as  she  observed  they  were  unwelcome  to  her 
auditor,  my  lady  kindly  continued  to  reiterate  with  unwearied 
•  fervor. 

"  You  must  not  come  near  for  days,"  she  tells  him,  kindly. 
"  I  shall  be  so  wrapped  up  in  Gerry,  I  shall  not  have  a  word 
to  nay  to  you." 

"  Oh,  Gemini !"  says  Raymond,  with  a  little  scornful  laugh. 

"  That  is  meant  for  a  joke,  I  suppose,"  remarks  Mignon, 
disdainfully.  "  I  never  made  a  joke  in  my  life  :  it  is  only  very 
stupid  people  who  do,  I  think." 

Raymond  contemplates  her  with  a  little  bitter  working  of 
the  mouth.  She  is  sitting  on  a  low,  cushioned,  garden  chair, 
under  a  broad -leaved  chestnut.  The  faint  pale  blue  of  her 
dress  with  its  clouds  of  lace  sets  off  the  exquisite  fairness  of  her 
skin  j  her  eyes  are  like  deep  wells  in  which  the  sky  is  reflected 


MIGNON.  239 

on  a  summer  night ;  the  fine  threads  of  her  hair  sparkle  like 
gold.  The  same  thought  that  came  to  poor  Oswald  Carey 
comes  to  Raymond  as  he  looks  at  her. 

He  speaks.  Though  his  words  are  sweet,  the  tone  of  them 
is  low  and  bitter.  His  dark,  close  curls  are  pressed  back  against 
the  tree-trunk,  his  hazel  eyes  are  bent  upon  her  face  in  a  hard 
unfaltering  gaze. 

"  You  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever  saw.  I  doubt 
if  Helen  of  Troy  were  fairer.  Everything  about  you  (out- 
wardly) is  perfect :  there  is  not  one  feature  in  your  face  that 
sculptor  or  painter  could  improve.  You  are  altogether  lovely." 

He  pauses,  and  she  looks  at  him  with  mocking  wonder  in 
her  eyes. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  says  :  "  but  you  remind  me  of 
that  piece  at  the  Haymarket — The  Palace  of  Truth,  I  think — 
where  people  said  something  quite  different  from  what  they 
meant  to  say.  To  judge  by  your  face,  I  could  imagine  that, 
instead  of  all  the  pretty  things  you  have  treated  me  to,  you 
were  saying  something  very  spiteful." 

"  I  have  not  finished,"  he  answers,  not  relaxing  either  the 
steadfastness  or  the  bitterness  of  his  gaze. 

"  Oh  !"  laughs  Miguon  ;  "  I  have  had  the  jam,  and  the 
powder  is  coming.  Is  that  it  ?" 

Raymond  resumes. 

"  I  dare  say  men  would  commit  crimes  and  follies  for  you, 
as  they  did  for  the  lovely  women  in  the  olden  time.  I  dare 
say,  if  circumstances  had  placed  you  in  a  similar  position,  you 
would  have  had  the  bliss  of  embroiling  kingdoms  and  causing 
rivers  of  blood  to  flow.  As  it  is,  your  powers  for  evil  are 
necessarily  circumscribed,  though  doubtless  you  will  do  a  good 
deal  of  mischief  before  you  die.  But —  And  he  pauses. 

'•  Now  comes  the  tug  of  war  !"  mocks  Mignon. 

"  But — suppose  you  were  stricken  down  with  smallpox  to- 
morrow, suppose  you  were  disfigured  in  a  railway  accident, 
suppose,  from  whatever  cause,  you  lost  your  beauty,  I  do  not 
believe  you  would  have  a  friend  in  the  world,  nor  a  creature 
who  cared  for  you." 

Mignon's  eyes  flash  with  indignant  amazement ;  but  Ray- 
mond has  not  finished. 

"  What  have  you  ever  done  to  win  any  one's  love  ?  when 
have  you  been  unselfish,  or  tender,  or  pitiful  ?  when  have  you 


240  MIGNON. 

done  one  of  those  kind  actions  that  make  other  women  friends, 
even  though  they  have  no  beauty  ?  when  have  you  considered 
any  breathing  human  being  but  yourself?" 

It  certainly  is  rather  "  a  strong  order"  for  so  very  egotisti- 
cal a  young  gentleman  as  Raymond  to  give  a  lecture  upon  the 
very  faults  he  possesses  himself;  but,  as  it  has  been  remarked, 
our  own  failings  are  always  those  which  offend  us  most  in 
others. 

"  Thank  you  !"  cries  Mignon,  with  blazing  eyes,  and  cheeks 
stirred  to  carnation  by  her  wrath.  "  I  shall  know  in  future 
how  to  value  all  your  protestations  of  love  and  admiration. 
Not  that  I  ever  thought  them  sincere,  or  worth  having  if  they 
were." 

"  But  you  see,"  returns  Raymond,  his  bitterness  relaxing 
now  he  has  given  vent  to  his  spleen,  "  you  have  not  taken  the 
smallpox  nor  been  smashed  in  a  railway-carriage :  so  the  fact 
of  your  beauty  remains,  and  consequently  the  fact  that  I,  and 
other  fools  like  me,  will  break  our  hearts  about  you." 

"Break  YOUR  heart!1'  retorts  Mignon,  with  a  whole 
volume  of  scorn  in  her  voice. 

So  it  will  appear  that  this  young  couple,  who  are  giving  so 
much  anxiety  to  their  elders,  have  not  that  exalted  respect 
and  esteem  for  each  other  upon  which  it  is  said,  and  truly  said, 
the  tender  passion  should  be  founded. 

After  having  indulged  himself  in  telling  these  bitter  truths 
to  my  lady,  Raymond  has  to  eat  a  fabulous  amount  of  humble 
pie  before  he  is  restored  to  anything  like  favor.  Strange  to 
say,  his  words  rankle  in  Mignon's  breast.  As  a  rule,  reproaches 
and  sharp  words  glance  off  her  as  arrows  from  an  iron  target ; 
but  when,  later,  she  goes  to  her  room  to  dress,  she  looks  at 
herself  earnestly  in  the  glass,  and  says,  in  her  heart,  "  It  is 
quite  true.  If  I  were  ugly,  who  would  care  for  me?"  And 
she  sighs,  and  for  once  wishes  she  were  something  worthier 
and  better.  Gerry  is  to  arrive  to-night:  she  runs  a  dozen 
times  to  his  room,  to  think  if  she  can  invent  any  improvement; 
she  puts  on  one  of  her  loveliest  dresses,  though  she  will  have 
to  change  it  again  in  half  an  hour  for  dinner ;  and  when  she 
sees  the  dog-cart  coming  up  the  drive,  she  flies  down-stairs 
and  out  upon  the  steps,  and,  almost  before  he  alights,  both  her 
arms  are  around  his  neck,  and  she  is  giving  him  such  a  hug 
as  no  one  in  the  memory  of  man  ever  beheld  her  give.  The 


MIGNON.  241 

servants,  who  have  never  seen  her  caress  man,  woman,  child, 
dog,  or  horse,  are  fairly  astounded.  A  bitter  pang  goes 
through  Sir  Tristram's  heart :  but  he  comes  forward  and  shakes 
the  lad  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  welcomes  him  as  though  he 
were  his  own  brother.  As  for  Gerry,  he  is  not  like  his  sister : 
perhaps  the  warmest  corner  in  his  heart  is  for  her,  but  he 
has  plenty  of  love  and  kindness  and  good  will  for  every  one 
else. 

He  gives  lavish  greetings  all  round,  whilst  my  lady  looks  on 
with  ill-concealed  impatience.  It  is  a  real  pleasure  to  see 
his  bright,  cheery  smile,  that  looks  like  the  incarnation  of  a 
sunbeam,  to  hear  his  fresh  young  voice  :  it  makes  even  the 
servants,  who  are  as  immovable  as  becomes  their  position  in  a 
"  high"  family,  relax  the  muscles  of  their  face  :  it  is  easy  to 
prognosticate  that  before  three  days  there  won't  be  one  among 
them  who  will  not  be  a  willing  slave  to  him. 

"  If  my  lady  was  only  like  him,"  said  the  butler  (and  no 
doubt  many  wholesome  truths  are  uttered  in  the  servants'  hall), 
"  we  should  all  fall  down  and  worship  her." 

My  lady,  however,  gives  them  no  cause  to  break  the  second 
commandment :  not  one  of  them  likes  her  in  his  heart,  al- 
though her  loveliness  has  much  the  same  fascination  for  them 
that  it  has  for  their  superiors. 

Gerry's  gratitude  towards  Sir  Tristram  is  unbounded :  he 
seems  as  if  he  cannot  show  it  enough.  The  affectionate  defer- 
ence with  which  he  treats  him  charms  every  one  except  Mig- 
non,  who  seems  to  consider  that  all  his  gratitude  is  due  to  her. 
Gerry  has  been  gazetted  to  the  — th  Lancers,  and  is  to  join 
in  a  month.  Sir  Tristram  got  him  his  commission,  Sir  Tris- 
tram has  paid  every  shilling  of  his  expenses  since  last  Septem- 
ber, Sir  Tristram  has  given  him  his  outfit,  and  makes  him  the 
liberal  allowance  that  permits  him  to  live  like  a  young  gentle- 
man of  the  period,  and  Gerry  has  the  most  lively  recollection 
of  all  these  favors.  The  bounty  he  has  received  does  not 
make  him,  like  the  horse-leech's  daughters,  cry,  "  Give  !  give !" 
he  would  not  ask  anything  more  of  his  brother-in-law  for  the 
world :  to  save  his  life,  he  would  not  exceed  his  allowance. 

There  is  only  just  time  after  he  arrives  to  dress  for  dinner, 
but  imperious  Mignon  is  not  to  be  contradicted  in  her  desire 
to  have  her  brother  all  to  herself.  Almost  immediately  din- 
ner i&  over,  she  gets  up  and  signs  to  Gerry  to  accompany  her. 
L  21 


242  MIONON. 

He  looks  first  at  his  brother-in-law, — which  makes  my  lady 
toss  her  head  scornfully. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me,  Sir  Tristram  ?"  he  asks. 

"  By  all  means,  my  boy,"  answers  Sir  Tristram,  heartily. 

Now,  Madam  Mignon,  with  the  curiosity  which  belongs  only 
to  the  inferior  sex,  is  dying  to  see  Gerry's  finery,  which  she 
has  especially  commanded  him  to  bring. 

"  Come,"  she  cries,  linking  her  arm  in  his,  and  marching 
him  off  up-stairs ;  "  I  want  to  see  all  your  lovely  clothes." 
And  Gerry,  who  is  quite  as  proud  of  his  uniform  as  any  other 
young  embryo  soldier,  nothing  loath,  obeys  her  behest. 

But  when  they  have  arrived  at  his  room,  the  first  thing  he 
does  is  to  put  his  arms  round  his  sister  and  smother  her  with 
kisses. 

"  Oh,  Yonnie !  what  a  darling  you  look !  and  how  can  I 
ever  thank  you  and  Sir  Tristram  enough  !  Are  you  quite 
happy  ?" 

Mignon  at  this  moment  is  possessed  by  a  perfect  sense  of 
bi'en-etre;  but  she  has  no  idea  of  undervaluing  the  sacrifice 
she  wishes  Gerry  to  consider  she  has  made :  so  she  heaves  a 
little  sigh,  which  is  exceedingly  strained  and  unnatural,  and 
answers, — 

"  As  happy  as  I  can  expect  to  be." 

"  But  he  is  such  a  thundering  good  fellow,"  utters  Gerry, 
wistfully. 

"  Yes,  but  you  didn't  have  to  marry  him ;  you  haven't  got 
to  live  with  him  for  the  next  hundred  years,"  says  Migiion. 
"  There  !"  (impatiently),  "  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  him.  Get 
your  things  out." 

So  Gerry,  with  much  pride  and  care,  unfolds  his  treasures 
one  by  one  from  their  wrappings,  and  exhibits  them  to  Mig- 
non's  dazzled  eyes. 

"  You  must  put  them  on  !  I  must  see  you  in  them  !"  cries 
Mignon.  "Stay!"  (as  a  sudden  idea  rushes  through  her 
brain) ;  and  she  claps  her  hands  and  dances  round  the  room 
in  wild  delight.  "  I  know.  I  will  put  on  your  full-dress 
uniform,  and  you  shall  put  on  the  undress,  and  we  will  go 
down-stairs  together.  You  stoop  a  little,  and  I  will  make  my- 
self tall,  and  they  won't  know  which  is  which." 

"Will  it  be  quite  the  thing,  Yonnie?"  asks  Gerry,  with 
some  hesitation. 


MIGNON.  243 

"  Of  course  it  will.  Why  not  ?  Quick  !  give  me  all  the 
things,  and  I  will  carry  them  to  my  room." 

The  maid  is  summoned ;  but  it  is  as  much  as  her  place  is 
worth  to  venture  any  remonstrance.  In  twenty  minutes  my 
lady  is  as  dashing  a  cornet  as  ever  held  her  Majesty's  commis- 
sion, and  swaggers  about  as  only  a  woman  in  men's  clothes 
can.  Gerry  is  dressed  long  ago,  and  comes  to  give  the  finish- 
ing-touch. He  is  not  quite  easy  in  his  mind  about  the  pro- 
priety of  the  escapade,  but  Mignon  is  wild  with  spirits.  As 
they  go  out  arm  in  arm,  their  swords  clanking  behind  them, 
the  corridor  rings  again  with  her  laughter.  The  party  have 
left  the  dining-room ;  neither  are  they  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  We  shall  find  them  in  the  garden,"  says  Mignon. 

They  saunter  through  the  open  windows.  It  is  bright 
moonlight.  The  night  is  intensely  hot,  and  coffee  is  being 
served  out  of  doors.  They  run  full  tilt  against  the  butler  and 
footman,  who,  for  once  in  their  lives,  so  far  forget  themselves 
as  to  look  something  of  the  astonishment  they  feel.  Imme- 
diately afterwards  they  join  the  group.  In  one  instant  it  is 
evident  to  Gerry  that  the  joke  is  not  appreciated  :  there  is  a 
look  of  dismay  on  every  face.  Sir  Tristram  colors  and  rises. 

"My  dear,"  he  says,  advancing  hurriedly  to  Mignon,  "pray 
return  to  the  house  before  the  servants  see  you." 

He  has  been  educated  in  the  good  old  school.  For  a  woman 
to  lower  herself  in  the  eyes  of  her  household  is  a  very  shock- 
ing offense,  in  his  opinion. 

"Too  late!"  cries  Mignon,  with  a  laugh,  half  defiant,  half 
awkward.  "I  just  ran  into  Howell's  arms  and  nearly  made 
him  drop  the  coffee-pot." 

"  Mignon,"  whispers  Mary,  "  do  come  in,  dear."  And  she 
takes  her  by  the  arm. 

"  How  stupid  you  all  are !"  cries  Mignon,  with  an  angry 
flush  in  her  fair  face  :  "to  make  such  a  fuss  about  a  joke!" 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  her  husband  speaks  angrily  to 
her. 

"It  is  no  joke  for  a  lady  to  degrade  herself  before  her  ser- 
vants, Lady  Bergholt." 

Mignon  turns  upon  him  furiously. 

"  Whose  fault  is  it  that  I  am  Lady  Bergliolt  ?"  she  cries, 
with  an  accent  of  bitter  contempt  on  the  name  and  title  ;  but 
here  Gerry  drags  her  away  by  main  force,  and  she  returns  to 


244  MIGNON. 

her  room  and  gives  vent  to  a  passion  of  angry  tears.  She  does 
not  appear  again  that  evening,  and  poor  Gerry  feels  rather  sad 
and  crestfallen. 

Next  morning,  however,  the  escapade  seems  to  be  forgotten 
by  all  but  Mignon,  who  treats  every  one  but  Gerry  with  ex- 
treme coldness  and  hauteur.  Captain  Carlyle  loses  no  time  in 
imparting  to  Gerry  his  uneasiness  about  Raymond's  attentions, 
and  the  poor  lad  feels  more  seriously  afflicted  than  he  has  ever 
done  in  his  life,  except  when  his  uncle  died.  Suppose  Mignon 
had  married  Sir  Tristram  for  his  sake;  suppose  she  found 
herself  unable  to  love  him,  and  had  conceived  an  attachment 
for  L'Estrange  !  These  thoughts  sadly  spoiled  his  first  day's 
shooting.  But  he  had  resolved  what  to  do.  He  speak  to  his 
sister !  he  upbraid  her  !  he  even  have  a  disloyal  doubt  of  her, 
when  she  has  been  his  guardian  angel !  No  !  His  affair  was 
with  the  man,  not  with  her.  And,  in  his  chivalrous  boyish 
heart,  he  was  ready  to  fight  for  her  honor  to  the  death. 

llaymond  dined  at  Bergholt  on  the  evening  of  the  12th : 
he  had  ridden  over  in  the  afternoon. 

"I  thought  your  paragon  would  be  out,"  he  says,  "and  you 
might  be  feeling  dull." 

"I  am  rather,"  assents  my  lady. 

"  Well,  are  you  getting  at  all  bored  by  his  military  conver- 
sation ?  I  suppose  he  is  pretty  full  of  swagger " 

"As  for  swagger,"  retorts  Mignon,  with  a  malicious  laugh, 
"  you  have  quite  accustomed  me  to  that.  And  I  don't  believe 
he  has  swaggered  as  much  in  eight-and-forty  hours  as  you  do 
in  ten  minutes." 

Raymond  is  pleased  to  be  immensely  gracious  to  Gerry,  and 
Gerry,  who  meant  to  treat  him  with  much  coolness,  is  not 
proof  against  the  frank  kindness  of  his  manner.  On  this 
particular  evening  there  is  nothing  very  marked  in  his  atten- 
tions to  Mignon,  and  Gerry  begins  to  think  his  father  has 
made  some  mistake.  A  few  days,  however,  suffice  to  con- 
vince him  that  there  is  but  too  much  truth  in  what  he  has 
heard :  it  is  evident  that  Mignon,  although  she  snubs  Ray- 
mond most  unmercifully,  takes  a  certain  amount  of  pleasure  in 
his  society,  and  likes  him  to  come  to  the  house,  and  it  is  not 
only  evident,  but  unmistakable,  that  Raymond  is  very  much 
in  love  indeed.  So  Gerry  buckles  on  his  moral  harness  and 
prepares  to  do  battle  for  his  sister's  good  name. 


MIGNON.  245 

More  than  once  Raymond  has  pressed  him  to  go  over  to 
L' Estrange  Hall,  and  on  the  sixth  day  after  his  arrival  at 
Bergholt  he  accepts  the  invitation. 

"  I  will  ride  over  to-morrow,  if  it  suits  you,"  he  says  ;  and 
Raymond  gives  a  pleased  assent.  He  likes  Gerry  because  he 
resembles  Mignon ;  he  likes  him  for  his  own  sake  too,  and  he 
is  more  than  anxious  to  be  friendly  with  him.  The  boy's 
heart  is  heavy  within  him  as  he  rides  along  the  green  lanes  and 
across  the  common.  He  has  never  exchanged  hard  words  with 
any  one  in  his  life  ;  personally,  he  likes  and  admires  Raymond, 
and  would  gladly  be  his  friend.  But  he  has  a  strong  sense  of 
honor,  an  almost  chivalrous  feeling  of  his  obligations  to  Sir 
Tristram,  and,  above  all  things,  an  intense  devotion  to  his  twin 
sister.  And  so,  without  a  word  or  hint  to  any  one,  he  rides 
forth  with  a  heavy  heart  to  do  what  duty  bids  him. 

Raymond,  than  whom  no  man  living  can  be  more  gracious 
or  winning  when  the  mood  is  on  him,  comes  out  with  the 
most  cordial  of  greetings,  treats  him  as  though  he  were  a 
brother  returned  after  a  long  absence,  introduces  him  to  his 
mother,  and  unfolds  his  projects  for  the  day's  amusement. 
Poor  Gerry  is  ill  at  ease,  miserable :  he  has  no  intention  of 
staying :  how  should  he  eat  bread  and  salt  with  the  man  who 
may  one  day  stand  face  to  face  with  him  as  his  bitterest  foe  ? 
There  is  a  nervous  flutter  at  his  heart :  his  color  comes  and 
goes ;  he  answers  at  random ;  but  Raymond  is  so  full  of 
spirits,  and  has  so  much  to  say,  he  does  not  seem  to  remark 
Gerry's  strangeness.  They  go  round  the  stables,  look  at  the 
dogs,  pay  a  visit  to  the  keepers'  cottages  to  see  the  young 
pheasants  that  are  being  brought  up  there,  and  finally  return 
to  the  house.  And  yet  Gerry  has  not  spoken. 

"  It  must  be  lunch-time,"  says  Raymond,  looking  at  hig 
watch. 

And  then  Gerry,  trembling  in  every  limb  from  strong  ex- 
citement, his  heart  in  his  throat,  begins, — 

"  I  cannot  stay  to  lunch,  thanks.  I  came  here  to  say 
something  to  you :  when  I  have  said  it,  I  will  go." 

Raymond  looks  at  him  in  unfeigned  astonishment,  but 
quick  as  lightning  comes  the  intuition  of  what  that  something 
is.  He  says  nothing,  but  looks  Gerry  full  in  the  face  with 
his  dark  resolute  eyes,  and  waits. 

The  words  that  Gerry  has  arranged  in  his  head  take  flight, 


246  MIGNON. 

or  come  out  headlong,  pell-mell,  trembling,  fluttering,  but  he 
makes  himself  understood.  . 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me :  I  like  you  very  much,  I 
wish  we  could  be  friends,  but  my  sister  is  more  than  anything 
else  to  me  in  the  world.  I  don't  blame  you, — of  course  you 
can't  help  it, — I  don't  know  who  could, — but  it  must  not  be" 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  responds  Raymond,  coolly,  "  if  you 
would  kindly  try  and  be  a  little  more  lucid,  I  might  get  some 
idea  of  what  you  are  driving  at." 

"  I  think  you  know,"  says  the  boy,  a  flush  overspreading 
the  face  that  is  so  like  Mignon's.  "  I  mean  that  you  are  in 
love  with  my  sister,  and  that  no  one  can  help  seeing  it.  And 
— and  people  will  talk  about  it,  and  that  will  be  bad  for 
her." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  remarks  Raymond,  with  the  shadow  of 
a  sneer,  "  that  her  husband  is  the  best  judge  of  that  ?  Don't 
you  think  he  is  old  enough  to  take  care  of  her  honor?" 

"  He  is  the  noblest  fellow  in  the  world,"  breaks  out  Gerry : 
"  he  is  so  good  himself  that  he  would  not  even  suspect  others 
of  abusing  his  generosity." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  says  Raymond,  assuming  a  genial 
and  ingenuous  air,  "  what  do  you  complain  of?  What  do 
you  want  me  to  do  ?  Surely  it  is  natural  that  I  should  admire 
so  very  lovely  a  woman  as  Lady  Bergholt  ?"  He  wants  to 
divert  Gerry's  suspicions,  and  to  treat  the  matter  in  such  a 
way  as  will  make  it  difficult  for  him  to  proceed  to  extremities. 
In  his  heart  he  laughs  at  the  idea  of  a  boy  like  this  standing 
between  him  and  what  has  come  to  be  the  one  object  of  his 
life. 

"I  want  you  to  keep  away  from  her,"  answers  Gerry, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  If  you  really  care  for  her,  you  will  want  to 
do  what  is  best  for  her." 

Raymond  looks  at  him,  a  faint  smile  curving  his  lips. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  love?" 

Gerry  blushes. 

"  Well,  no,  perhaps  not  exactly  in  love,"  he  says,  hesitating, 
"  but  I  have  been  very  fond  of  one  or  two  girls." 

"  You  have  never  felt  a  passion  that  has  absorbed  your 
whole  heart  and  thoughts,  never  cared  so  much  for  any  one 
that  every  hour  spent  away  from  them  was  positive  pain  and 
misery  ?" 


MIGNON.  247 

Raymond's  voice  is  hoarse  and  deep :  his  eyes  flash :  he  is 
in  bitter  earnest. 

"No,"  answers  Gerry,  as  if  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of  not 
having  experienced  the  sensations  described. 

"  Then  pardon  me  for  saying  you  can  be  no  judge  in  the 
matter.  Your  sister  was  sold"  (Gerry  winces)  "  to  a  man  as 
old  as  her  father,  when  she  was  such  a  child  as  not  to  know 
what  love  meant :  is  it  wonderful  that  when  my  heart  speaks 
to  her's,  her's  should  answer  ?  Let  those  who  sold  her  look 
to  it  1" 

There  is  a  dark  red  flush  on  Raymond's  face :  he  forgets 
that  he  is  speaking  to  Mignon's  brother,  and  that  he  is  only  a 
lad.  In  his  tone  there  is  a  covert  threat,  and  Gerry  resents  it. 

"  She  is  not  in  love  with  you,"  he  says,  stoutly ;  "  no  more 
in  love  with  you  than  she  was  with  Oswald  Carey." 

"  Pray  who  is  Oswald  Carey  ?"  asks  Raymond,  sharply. 

"  Oh,  a  great  friend  of  mine :  he  worshipped  the  ground 
she  walked  on,  and  when  she  gave  him  up  for  Sir  Tristram  it 
broke  his  heart,  and  he  went  off  to  India." 

"  Oh  !"  says  Raymond,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "And  may  I 
ask  on  what  grounds  you  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  your 
sister  is  as  indifferent  to  me  as  she  was  to  Mr.  Oswald  Carey?" 

"  Because  she  laughs  and  gibes  at  you  all  day  long,"  answers 
Gerry,  with  imprudent  frankness  ;  "  and  she  makes  fun  of  you 
behind  your  back.  She  would  not  do  that  if  she  cared  for 
you." 

Raymond  is  stung  to  the  quick. 

"  Does  Lady  Bergholt  know  of  your  errand  here  to-day  ?" 
he  asks,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  No.     I  would  not  have  her  know  for  the  world." 

"  Perhaps  Sir  Tristram  does  ?" 

"  No  one  knows,"  cries  Gerry,  indignantly.  "  And  now 
give  me  your  answer  and  let  me  go.  Will  you  give  up  coming 
so  often  to  see  my  sister  and  paying  her  attentions  which  may 
compromise  her?" 

Raymond  draws  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  looks 
down  at  the  stripling  as  Goliath  might  have  looked  at  David. 

"  I  will  not  give  up  going  to  see  your  sister,"  he  answers, 
contemptuously  ;  "  nor  will  I  give  up  showing  all  the  admira- 
tion and  devotion  I  feel  for  her." 

The  red  color  mounts  to  Gerry's  neck  and  brow,  his  blue 


248  MIGNON. 

eyes  flash  as  Mignon's  are  wont  to  do,  his  nostrils  quiver,  he 
looks  as  gallant  a  lad  as  you  could  well  find  in  the  three  king- 
doms. 

"  Then,"  he  says,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  righteous  wrath, 
"/will  compel  you.  You  think  me  a  boy:  you  shall  find  I 
am  a  man.  I  suppose  you  are  a  gentleman  :  you  will  hardly 
refuse  to  fight.  If  disgrace  comes  to  my  sister  through  you, 
it  will  not  be  until  you  have  my  blood  on  your  hands,  not  till 
I  am  dead,  and  can  no  longer  defend  her." 

Raymond  is  at  a  loss.  He  feels  the  absurdity  of  the  situa- 
tion, but  he  cannot  help  admiring  the  lad's  chivalrous  bearing. 
To  quarrel  d  Voutrance  with  a  boy  of  eighteen  is  out  of  the 
question,  but  he  sees  in  him  a  determined  and  unpleasant 
obstacle. 

"  He  will  be  gone  in  another  fortnight,"  he  says  to  himself. 
"  It  is  a  confounded  nuisance ;  but  I  suppose  I  must  do  some- 
thing to  lull  his  suspicions." 

He  holds  out  his  hand  with  a  smile. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  would  not  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head. 
Keep  your  sword  for  the  enemies  of  your  country.  I  hope 
you  will  never  have  occasion  to  draw  it  on  me." 

But  Gerry  declines  the  proffered  hand. 

"  I  will  not  take  it  until  you  swear  to  desist  from  perse- 
cuting my  sister." 

"Persecuting — nonsense!"  cries  Raymond,  with  a  light 
laugh.  "  Come,  now  you  have  had  your  heroics,  get  off  the 
stilts  and  come  and  have  some  lunch." 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  order  my  horse?"  says  Gerry. 
"  I  will  not  stay  any  longer." 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  replies  Raymond,  coldly,  ring- 
ing the  bell.  He  is  getting  a  little  bored.  "  Have  Mr.  Car- 
lyle's  horse  brought  round,"  he  says  :  and  during  the  time 
that  elapses  until  it  is  announced,  not  a  word  is  spoken  between 
them. 


MIGNON.  249 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"L'abbe  Bouchitte",  quand  on  faisait  devant  lui  avec  enthousiasme 
I'gloge  de  la  beaute  d'une  femme,  vous  interrompait  en  disant, 
" '  Mange-t-elle  ?' 
(  Plait- il  ?     Que  ditcs-vous  ?' 
'  Je  vous  demande  si  elle  mange/ 
Je  ne  sais  pas  encore,  mais  je  crois  que  oui/ 
;  Pouah !  alors.' 
1  Pourquoi  pouah  ?' 
'  Parce  que  je  n'admets  pas  une  femme  qui  mange !'  " 

THE  following  morning,  Mignon  receives  a  letter  • 

"DEAR  LADY  BERQHOLT, 

"  Your  fire-eating  brother  gave  me  such  a  terrible  fright 
yesterday  that  I  shall  not  feel  safe  as  long  as  we  are  both  in 
the  same  county.  So  I  am  having  my  things  packed,  that  I 
may  make  my  escape  whilst  there  is  yet  time.  I  have  deferred 
going  to  Scotland,  because  I  found  greater  charms  here ;  but, 
now  that  the  only  house  where  I  care  to  be  is  closed  against 
me,  I  shall  go  and  have  a  turn  at  the  grouse.  You  will,  I  dare 
say,  be  able  to  console  yourself  for  my  absence  by  making  fun 
of  me  behind  my  back. 

"  Ever  yours, 

"  RAYMOND  L'ESTRANGE." 

Mignon  reads  the  letter  in  silence,  and  puts  it  in  her  pocket. 
When  breakfast  is  over  she  says  to  her  brother, — 

"  Gerry,  I  want  you  to  come  into  the  wood  with  me  this 
morning." 

Gerry  feels  guilty,  but  he  says  to  himself, — 
"  He  surely  can't  have  been  such  a  sneak  as  to  tell  her." 
As  they  walk  along  together,  Mignon  is  full  of  spirits ;  she 
laughs  and  talks  about  a  thousand  things ;  and  Gerry  tries  to 
persuade  himself  that  it  is  only  his  conscience  that  makes  him 
uneasy.     Presently  they  come  to  a  felled  tree,  and  Mignon  sits 
down  upon  it. 
L* 


250  MIGNON. 

"  Now,"  she  says,  abruptly,  fixing  her  eyes  on  his  face,  "  what 
have  you  been  saying  to  Mr.  L'Estrange  ?" 

Gerry  blushes  like  a  girl,  and  drops  his  eyes.  Mignon  takes 
the  letter  from  her  pocket,  and  hands  it  to  him. 

"  What  a  coward !"  says  the  boy,  bitterly,  as  he  reads  it. 

"  Well,"  says  Mignon,  "  I  want  to  know  what  you  said  to 
him." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  Gerry  answers,  turning  his  head  away. 

Dangerous  fires  begin  to  kindle  in  the  dark-blue  eyes  ;  there 
is  an  ominous  dilating  of  the  fine  nostrils  ;  a  tempest  begins  to 
heave  under  the  lace  that  covers  my  lady's  breast. 

"  How  dare  you  interfere  with  me  ?  how  dare  you  insult  my 
friends  ?"  she  cries. 

"  Yonnie,  don't  be  angry  with  me !"  he  pleads.  "  I  never 
meant  you  to  know." 

"  Of  course  not"  (bitterly) ;  "  but,  you  see,  you  did  not 
manage  quite  cleverly."  (Then,  in  a  tone  of  disgust,)  "  I  never 
thought  you  were  a  sneak  before.  So  this  is  your  gratitude  !" 

"  Yes  !"  he  cries,  stung  to  the  quick  :  "  this  is  my  gratitude. 
I  would  rather  kill  any  one,  or  let  any  one  kill  me,  than  that  it 
should  be  in  people's  power  to  say  a  word  against  you." 

Mignon's  anger  subsides  into  mirth. 

"  Good  heavens !"  she  says,  laughing,  "  you  don't  mean  to 
say  you  have  been  challenging  him?" 

Gerry  is  silent. 

"  Did  you  ?"  she  repeats. 

"  I  told  him,"  he  answers,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  he  must 
cease  paying  you  the  marked  attention  he  is  doing,  or " 

"Or  what?" 

"  There  is  only  one  alternative  between  gentlemen,"  answers 
Gerry,  with  dignity,  "  when  one  says,  <  You  must,'  and  the 
other  says,  '  I  will  not.'  " 

"  Oh  !  and  so  he  said  he  would  not  ?"  asks  Mignon,  curiously. 

"  He  gave  me  to  understand  as  much." 

"  Yes,"  utters  Mignon,  complacently ;  "  I  don't  think  any 
one  would  get  much  by  saying  must  to  Raymond." 

Gerry  fixes  his  eyes  full  upon  her.  He  looks  as  though  he 
were  trying  to  read  her  through,  trying  not  to  find  something 
he  is  afraid  of. 

"  You  do  not  care  for  him  ?"  he  whispers,  with  a  voice  in 
which  doubt  and  fear  struggle  painfully. 


MIGNON.  251 

"  I  do  care  for  him  very  much,"  she  says,  wilfully. 

He  throws  himself  down  at  her  feet,  with  his  arms  across 
her  knees,  and  his  eyes  fixed  imploringly  on  hers. 

"  Oh,  Yonnie !"  he  cries,  with  intense  earnestness,  "  for 
God's  sake,  don't  say  that !  You  don't  know  what  it  means ! 
you  don't  know  what  an  awful  thing  it  is  for  a  married  woman 
to  care  for  another  man  !  Oh,  God !"  and  he  clasps  her  so 
tight,  it  pains  her,  "  if  I  thought  you  would,  be  what — what 
some  women  are,  I  should  ask  him  to  kill  you  first." 

His  voice  quivers  with  passion,  his  eyes  devour  her  face  for 
an  answer,  his  boyish  soul  is  shaken  with  fear  at  what  her 
careless  words  have  implied. 

Mignon  feels  a  little  abashed. 

"  Don't  be  a  goose,"  she  says,  pushing  him  from  her.  "  I 
like  the  man  :  I  don't  love  him,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  Oh,  Yonnie,  are  you  sure?" 

"  Of  course  I  am"  (impatiently).  "  What  should  I  see  to 
love  in  a  man  who  is  wrapped  up  in  himself,  and  has  the  worst 
temper  in  the  world  ?  What  has  put  all  these  ridiculous  ideas 
into  your  head  ?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  darling,  for  having  doubted  you  an 
instant,"  says  poor  Gerry,  penitently,  "  but  no  one  can  help 
seeing  that  he  is  in  love  with  you,  and  from  something  he  said 
I — I  was  afraid " 

"  Oho  !"  laughs  Mignon.  "  What  did  he  say  ?  He  is  con- 
ceited enough  to  fancy  I  am  dying  of  love  for  him.  What 
did  he  say  ?" 

"  He  said"  (hesitatingly),  "  it  was  only  natural  that,  when 
his  heart  spoke  to  yours,  yours  should  answer." 

Mignon  bursts  into  such  immoderate  laughter  that  her 
brother  cannot  fail  to  be  reassured. 

"  I  wonder  what  his  heart  said,  and  what  mine  answered," 
she  cries,  between  two  peals  of  laughter.  "  I  must  ask  him." 

"  Yonnie  !  you  would  not  surely  do  such  a  thing  !" 

"  Well,  no ;  it  would  hardly  be  safe.  I  should  tease  the 
life  out  of  him,  and  raise  his  homicidal  propensities.  I  don't 
want  my  own  blood  shed,  nor  any  one  else's  on  my  account. 
And  so"  (still  laughing)  "  he  had  the  impudence  to  tell  you  I 
was  in  love  with  him.  Pray,  did  he  favor  you  with  any  further 
confidences  ?" 

"  Yonnie,  darling,"  says  the  lad,  gravely,  "  this  is  not  a 


I 


MIGNON. 

subject  for  jesting.  It  may  amuse  you,  but  you  don't  know 
•what  pain  it  is  giving  to  others." 

"  Fable  of  the  boys  and  the  frog,"  laughs  Mignon.  "  The 
boy  and  the  frogs  it  ought  to  be.  I  am  glad  I  am  the  boy." 

"  If  you  let  him  think  you  care  at  all  for  him,"  proceeds 
Gerry,  with  increased  gravity,  "you  foster  his  feelings  and 
make  him  suffer  all  the  more.  And  oh,  Yonnie  !  I  don't  think 

Iou  have  any  idea  what  pain  it  gives  Sir  Tristram.  I  watch 
im  sometimes,  and,  though  he  seems  not  to  notice  anything, 
I  know  he  suffers  agonies.  I  wonder  you  don't  see  how  worn 
and  hunted  his  eyes  look  at  times,  how  his  hand  trembles  when 
he  takes  up  a  book  and  pretends  to  read,  how  he  does  not  seem 
always  to  hear  when  people  speak  to  him." 

"He  is  getting  old  and  deaf,"  scoffs  Mignon. 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  dear.  I  think  it  is  only  your  way. 
I  can't  believe  that  you  are  really  indifferent  to  other  people's 
sufferings." 

"  Why  should  people  suffer  ?"  cries  Mignon,  indignantly. 
"  No  one  could  make  me.  I  shouldn't  care  the  least  if  Sir 
Tristram  preferred  some  one  else's  company  to  mine.  I  wish 
he  would." 

This  is  not  strictly  true,  for  my  lady  has  been  extremely  put 
out  more  than  once  by  her  husband  seeming  to  take  pleasure 
in  Mrs.  Stratheden's  society.  Her  dislike  for  Olga  has  gone 
on  increasing  steadily.  They  constantly  meet  at  different  houses 
in  the  county,  and,  as  Mignon  puts  herself  out  of  the  way  to 
be  uncivil,  Olga  keeps  aloof  from  her.  For  Sir  Tristram's 
sake,  whom  she  likes  most  heartily,  she  is  anxious  to  avoid  any 
open  breach.  Mignon  was  furious  with  Gerry  only  the  other 
day  for  having  spoken  enthusiastically  of  Mrs.  Stratheden, 
whom  he  had  talked  to  at  a  garden  party. 

"  I  'don't  think  you  would  like  it,"  says  Gerry,  replying  to 
his  sister's  remark.  "  No  one  does.  And  if  it  would  hurt 
you,  who  do  not  care  very  much  about  him,  what  do  you  think 
it  must  do  to  him,  who  worships  the  ground  you  walk  on,  when 
he  sees  you  whispering  and  laughing  with  L'Estrange?" 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  very  welcome  to  hear  all  our  whisper- 
ings," retorts  Mignon ;  "  if  he  did,  Ifidon't  think  he  would 
feel  very  jealous.  However,  thanks  to  you,  his  rival  is  gone, 
and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  don't  care  if  I  never  see  him 


MIGNON.  253 

"  Yonnie,  darling,"  whispers  Gerry,  looking  with  pleading 
eyes  in  her  face,  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me  something." 

"Well?" 

"  Promise  me,  when  he  comes  back,  not  to  let  him  be  here 
so  often,  not  to  seem  to  give  him  encouragement." 

"  I  shan't  promise  anything  of  the  sort,"  answers  Mignon, 
knitting  her  fair  brows.  "  I  am  not  going  to  be  moped  to 
death  to  please  anybody.  But  if  you  think  I  am  such  an 
idiot  as  to  be  capable  of  giving  up  all  T  now  have"  (with  a 
wave  of  her  hand)  "  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Raymond  L'Estrange, 
I  can  only  regret  your  singular  want  of  insight  into  character." 

As  it  happens,  Mignon  does  not  miss  Raymond  in  the  least. 
Kitty  is  at  Minor,  where  she  has  a  gay  party  ;  Mrs.  Strath- 
eden  gives  a  series  of  charming  entertainments  at  The  Manor 
House,  which  Mignon's  dislike  of  the  hostess  does  not  pre- 
vent her  taking  part  in ;  there  are  parties  at  Bergholt ;  and, 
indeed,  every  one  combines  to  make  the  autumn  a  gay  and 
pleasant  one. 

Raymond,  in  Scotland,  is  chafing  furiously  at  his  enforced 
absence.  The  only  consolation  he  has  is  derived  from  the 
conviction  that  Mignon  is  suffering  some  part  of  his  pain. 
If  he  could  only  see  her !  Gerry  has  left  to  join  his  regiment ; 
Mrs.  Carlyle  and  her  daughters  have  returned  to  Rose  Cottage ; 
and,  of  the  family,  only  Captain  Carlyle  remains  at  the  Court, 
for  partridge-shooting. 

There  is  to  be  a  large  party  in  the  house,  and  Mignon  is 
looking  forward  with  mingled  nervousness  and  pleasure  to  the 
idea  of  playing  hostess.  She  has  very  little  trouble :  Sir 
Tristram  arranges  everything  for  her.  Since  Raymond's  de- 
parture, he  has  grown  young  and  cheerful  again,  almost  happy; 
for  Mignon,  slightly  influenced  by  her  brother's  remonstrance, 
treats  him  with  a  shade  more  consideration. 

Lord  Threestars  is  to  be  one  of  the  guests, — a  circumstance 
that  gives  unmitigated  satisfaction  to  the  lady  of  Bergholt. 
She  is  bent  upon  his  conquest :  he  is  a  victim  worthy  her  bow 
and  spear,  and  poor  Raymond  vanishes  from  her  fickle  mind 
as  stars  wane  when  the  sun  rises.  Poor  Raymond,  indeed ! 
bad,  wicked,  unprincipled  Raymond,  who  is  going  to  be 
punished  as  he  deserves. 

Mignon  fears  no  rival.  True,  there  will  be  one  or  two  good- 
looking  women  of  the  party,  but  my  lady  has  superb  confidence 

22 


MIQNON. 

in  her  own  charms.  She  does  not  know  yet  that  there  is 
H.MK'tlmi-  \vhirh  can  triumph  over  mere  beauty, — particularly 
when  people  are  thrown  together  as  they  are  in  the  country. 
Ah  !  there  is  more  mischief  done  in  three  days  in  a  country 
house  than  in  a  whole  London  season.  And  do  not  the  fair 
know  it,  and  lay  themselves  out  accordingly  ? 

Lord  Threestars,  who  is  a  good  deal  courted  and  has  a  host 
of  invitations,  has  decided  upon  accepting  this  one  in  remem- 
brance of  Lady  Bergholt's  loveliness,  and  not  at  all  ignorant 
of  the  contingent  possibility  of  being  made  a  victim  of.  He 
is  a  thorough  man  of  the  world,  a  good  shot,  a  good  rider, 
cleverer  and  better  read  than  most  men  who  live  the  purpose- 
loss  life  of  a  man  of  fashion,  but  it  pleases  him  to  assume  a 
languor  and  a  semblance  of  effeminacy :  his  best  friend  does 
not  know  why.  Perhaps  he  heard  in  his  youth  the  story  of 
the  fragile-looking  exquisite  whom,  by  way  of  a  joke,  a  brawny 
scavenger  splashed  with  mud  as  he  passed.  "  Dirty  fellah  !" 
murmured  the  languid  one,  and,  turning,  picked  the  fellow  up 
as  if  he  had  been  a  baby  and  flung  him  into  his  own  mud-cart. 
At  all  events,  that  was  his  style,  and  men  who  had  chanced  to 
tackle  my  lord,  relying  on  his  delicate,  indifferent  appearance, 
hud  more  than  once  come  off  second  best. 

Lord  Threestars,  as  he  dresses  for  dinner  on  the  evening  of 
his  arrival  at  the  Court,  is  devoutly  hoping  that  the  duty  of 
taking  his  hostess  in  to  dinner  will  not  devolve  upon  him. 

"  She  is  looking  lovely,"  he  reflects,  "  perfectly,  exquisitely 
lovely.  I  feel  myself  en  train  for  a  new  emotion.  If  I  sit 
next  her  at  dinner  and  she  eats  much  or  not  delicately,  I  am 

]<»t.  My  dear  G ,  how  right  you  are  never  to  pronounce 

upon  a  woman  until  you  have  seen  her  eat!" 

This  particular  hobby  about  women  eating  is  hereditary  in 
Lord  Threestars'  family,  and  a  source  of  great  heart-burning  to 
the  lady  portion  of  it.  His  father  interdicts  cheese  and  sherry 
for  the  female  members  of  the  family :  if  he  had  detected  the 
faintest  aroma  of  onion  about  them,  dire  would  have  been  their 
disgrace.  It  was  therefore  the  habit  of  these  fair  daughters  of 
Eve,  with  the  wilful  ness  our  first  mother  transmitted  to  us,  as 
soon  as  their  father  was  absent  for  a  day  or  two,  to  cause  their 
maids  to  bring  hunches  of  bread  and  cheese  and  raw  onions  to 
their  bedrooms.  One  day,  after  one  of  these  orgies,  my  lord 
returned  suddenly  and  unexpectedly.  He  was  an  affectionate 


M1GNON.  255 

father,  and  it  was  the  habit  of  his  daughters  to  greet  his  return 
with  filial  osculations.  Oh,  agony  !  despair !  What  was  to  be 
done  1  My  lord  had  returned  and  was  asking  for  my  ladies, 
announced  the  affrighted  Abigail.  What  could  they  do? 
They  put  their  pretty  mouths  together  and  breathe  into  each 
other's  faces.  "  Oh,  Ethel !  do  I  smell  of  onions  ?  Oh,  Maud  ! 
do  I  ?  Oh,  Gwen !  do  I  ?  But,  alas !  all  alike  are  guilty, 
and  cannot  therefore  pronounce  any  reliable  opinion. 

My  lord's  voice  is  heard  shouting  in  the  distance. 

"  Stay  !"  cries  Ethel,  who  has  the  genius  of  the  family,  and 
she  rushes  to  the  chimney-piece  :  "  here  is  a  cigarette  I  stole 
from  Frank's  case.  Let  us  all  smoke  !  He  will  be  very  angry, 
but  it  will  be  nothing  to  the  onions." 

Each  takes  two  or  three  whiffs,  and  chokes  and  splutters. 
My  lord's  voice  comes  nearer,  louder,  more  impatient.  Ethel 
flings  the  cigarette  into  the  grate,  and,  rushing  to  the  door, 
opens  it  and  leads  the  van  of  culprits. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  all  about  ?  Where  does  the 
tobacco  come  from  ?  Have  you  got  a  man  hiding  up  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  papa,"  pleads  Ethel,  demurely,  whilst  the  two  other 
pretty  little  faces  look  very  white  and  scared,  "  we  have  been 
very  naughty,  and  you  will  be  dreadfully  angry  with  us,  but 
we  got  a  cigarette,  and  we  have  been  trying  to  smoke.  Oh, 
please,  papa,  we  will  never  do  it  again !" 

"  Just  let  me  catch  you,  you  abandoned  monkeys,"  cries  my 
lord,  half  angry,  half  amused,  "  and  I'll  get  a  birch  rod  and 
whip  you  all  round.  I  only  hope  you'll  all  be  very  sick. 
Don't  come  near  me  !  I  won't  kiss  one  of  you  for  a  week  !" 

And,  as  their  father  retreats  down  the  corridor,  the  three 
wicked  little  minxes  bury  their  heads  in  the  pillows  and  give 
vent  to  stifled  peals  of  laughter. 

When  Lord  Blank  proposed  to  Lady  Ethel  last  year,  she 
made  her  acceptance  conditional  upon  being  permitted  to  eat 
onions.  Strange  to  say,  since  she  has  been  allowed  to  exercise 
her  own  judgment  in  the  matter  her  taste  for  that  ambrosia 
has  vanished,  and  one  evening  recently,  when  her  husband 
kissed  her  after  dinner,  she  said,  with  a  charming  little 
moue, — 

"  Really,  darling,  I  thing  onions  have  rather  a  horrid  smell !" 

Lady  Bergholt  has  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  arrangement 
of  the  guests  at  dinner.  She  has  only  stipulated  for  one  thing : 


256  MIGNON. 

that  is,  that  as  Lord  Threestars  cannot  take  her  in  to  dinner, 
because  Lord  Blankshire,  a  greater  luminary,  is  dining,  he 
shall  at  least  sit  on  her  left  hand.  What,  therefore,  is  her 
sovereign  displeasure  on  finding,  as  they  take  their  seats,  that 
Mrs.  Strath eden,  who  is  the  guest  of  the  evening,  has  been 
allotted  to  him  !  Not  that  it  is  at  all  probable  Lord  Three- 
stars  will  have  any  eyes  for  her  in  the  presence  of  charms  so 
infinitely  superior.  Alas  for  the  vanity  of  human  aspirations ! 
Lord  Threestars,  shocked  at  the  very  outset  by  the  eagerness 
with  which  Lady  Bergholt  conveys  her  soup  to  her  mouth, 
turns  for  consolation  to  Olga,  and  finds  her  manners  all  that 
he  can  desire.  She  is  always  a  small  eater,  and,  if  amused  in 
conversation,  is  apt  to  forget  her  dinner  or  to  pay  very  little 
attention  to  it.  She  and  Lord  Threestars  take  to  each  other 
at  once:  she  is  pleased  with  him,  and  he  is  perfectly  fascinated 
by  her.  Gradually  he  forgets  the  very  existence  of  his  hostess, 
who  grows  every  minute  more  angry  and  mortified  as  she 
watches  the  pair,  and  listens  in  sulky  silence  to  the  amiable 
inanities  Lord  Blankshire  pours  without  ceasing  into  her  ear. 
As  soon  as  the  ladies  have  left  the  room,  he  whispers  to  Fred 
Conyngham,  who  is  a  guest,  in  spite  of  Mignou's  dislike  to 
him, — 

"  Who  is  that  most  charming  woman  ?  T  did  not  catch  her 
name.  Where  have  I  seen  her  ?  Her  face  is  perfectly  familiar 
to  me." 

"  You  must  have  seen  her  everywhere  in  town  where  people 
congregate,"  answers  Fred.  "  She  is,  as  you  say,  most  charm- 
ing. Her  name  is  Stratheden,  and  she  has  a  history." 

And,  nothing  loath,  Fred  tells  it  to  his  interested  auditor. 

As  the  days  go  on,  Mignon  has  the  extreme  mortification 
of  finding  that,  although  Lord  Threestars  pays  great  attention 
to  her  and  seems  charmed  with  her  society,  he  is  becoming 
seriously  epris  with  the  mistress  of  The  Manor  House.  Fred, 
only  too  glad  to  vex  and  mortify  Lady  Bergholt,  whom  he  dis- 
likes as  cordially  as  she  dislikes  him,  has  taken  Lord  Three- 
stairs  to  call  on  Olga,  and  my  lord  has  found  excuses  to  repeat 
his  visit  more  than  once.  Mrs.  Stratheden  has  issued  invita- 
tions for  a  fancy  dress  ball,  and  Mignon,  much  as  she  hates 
her  rival,  cannot  make  up  her  mind  to  punish  herself  by  staying 
away.  But  she  is  determined  not  to  extend  Lord  Threestars' 
invitation  over  the  ball,  and  positively  forbids  Sir  Tristram  to 


MIGNON.  257 

ask  him  to  stay  beyond  the  period  for  which  he  was  originally 
invited. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  remonstrates  her  perplexed  husband,  "  I 
thought  he  was  such  a  favorite  of  yours.  You  were  perfectly 
delighted  at  the  thought  of  his  coming." 

"Some  people  don't  improve  upon  acquaintance,"  answers 
Mignon :  "  he  is  one.  I  think  him  very  conceited,  and  he 
bores  me  dreadfully." 

But  Lord  Threestars  is  not  a  man  to  be  balked  in  his  inten- 
tions: so  from  Bergholt  he  betakes  himself  to  the  Blankshires, 
and  thence,  for  the  ball,  to  Lady  Clover!  s.  He  has  a  great 
partiality  for  Kitty,  and  that  little  lady,  not  knowing  how  she 
is  bringing  herself  into  her  friend's  black  books,  has  been  only 
too  delighted  to  further  Lord  Threestars'  wish  to  be  near  Mrs. 
Stratheden.  She  is  an  inveterate  match-maker,  besides. 

"  Jo,  my  dear,"  she  says,  patronizingly,  to  her  still  adoring 
husband,  "  I  want  your  advice." 

"  Do  you,  my  dear?"  he  returns,  placidly.  "  That  is  a  new 
sensation  for  me.  Is  it  anything  about  a  gown  ?" 

"  Gown !"  echoes  Kitty,  derisively.  "  My  dear  Jo,  I 
believe  you  were  a  hundred  years  old  when  you  were  born. 
Our  grandmothers  wore  gowns :  we  wear  toilettes" 

"  I  rather  wish  I  had  been  a  hundred  years  old  when  I  was 
born,"  says  Sir  Josias,  meditatively.  "  What  an  enormous 
deal  of  experience  I  should  have  gained  by  this  time !" 

"  Experience !"  cries  Kitty.  "  I  cannot  imagine  why  any 
one  should  want  experience.  It  only  means  finding  out  that 
everything  is  a  delusion  and  a  snare,  and  learning  not  to  trust 
anybody  or  to  hope  for  anything." 

Sir  Josias  smiles  benevolently. 

"  That  is  not  badly  put,  my  dear,  but  it  is  rather  a  one- 
sided view  of  the  case.  But  about  my  advice." 

"  I  want  Lord  Threestars  and  Olga  to  marry  each  other. 
How  am  I  to  accomplish  it?" 

Sir  Josias  looks  thoughtful. 

"Are  you  prepared  to  act  upon  my  advice?"  he  asks,  pres- 
ently. 

"  Perhaps  ;  that  is,  if  it  should  coincide  with  my  own  opin- 
ion." 

"  Precisely,"  smiles  her  husband.  "  That  is  the  only  advice 
I  ever  knew  any  one  take." 

22* 


258  MIGNON. 

"  Well  ?"  interrogates  Kitty. 

"  Leave  them  quite  alone,  and  don't  attempt  to  meddle  with 
their  affairs  in  any  way  whatever." 

Kitty,  perched  in  her  favorite  attitude  upon  the  table,  a 
habit  that  is  a  source  of  great  grief  and  disgust  to  the  dowager 
Lady  Clover,  looks  disdainfully  at  her  lord. 

"  Your  advice  does  not  at  all  coincide  with  my  opinion," 
she  remarks,  dryly ;  "  indeed,  it  is  as  absolutely  worthless  as 
most  men's  suggestions  on  similar  subjects.  Still,  dear,  as  you 
mean  well,  and  I  asked  you  for  it,  if  you  like  to  come  this  way 
I  will  give  you  a  kiss." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"Le  type  de  la  fcmme  coquette,  'qui  no  connait  d'amour  quo  celui 
qu'elle  inspire.'  remonte  tl  une  tres  haute  antiquit6,  puisque  Aphrodite 
est  repre'sente'e  dans  1'hymnc  home'rique  comme  e"tant  elle-m6me  froide 
et  insensible,  mais  occup6e  toujours  a,  inspirer  d'une  fajon  irresistible  lea 
sentiments  amoureux  aux  dieux  et  aux  hommes." 

LADY  BERGHOLT'S  frame  of  mind  is  far  from  enviable. 
Her  affections  are  not  at  all  engaged,  but  her  vanity  is,  and 
to  be  rivalled  by  a  woman  whom  she  chooses  to  consider  old, 
passee,  utterly  inferior  to  herself  in  personal  charms,  is  inex- 
pressibly galling  to  her.  But  it  is  the  secret  consciousness  of 
Olga's  real  superiority  that  makes  her  so  bitter  ;  it  is  the  in- 
ward recognition  of  a  grace,  a  delicacy,  a  breeding  she  lacks 
herself,  that  intensifies  her  hatred  of  Olga.  Fred  Conynghain 
reads  her  through  and  through,  and  takes  a  malicious  delight 
in  punishing  her  by  praising  her  rival.  He  is  too  good  a 
judge  to  address  his  praises  to  her  personally,  but  he  takes 
care  that  she  will  be  within  earshot,  and  that  the  qualities  he 
commends  with  the  most  enthusiasm  shall  be  those  which  she 
most  obviously  lacks. 

Raymond  is  coming  home  on  purpose  for  the  ball,  and 
Mignon,  with  a  vindictive  desire  to  revenge  herself  on  her  hus- 
band and  Fred  Conyngham  for  their  regard  for  Mrs.  Strathe- 


MIGNON.  259 

den,  to  show  Lord  Threcstars  how  perfectly  indifferent  she  is 
to  him,  and  to  punish  everybody  individually  and  collectively, 
has  made  up  her  mind  to  flirt  desperately  with  him. 

The  night  comes  and  goes  :  the  ball  is  a  perfect  success,  but 
some  hearts  that  came  light  to  it  go  heavily  away.  When 
Olga  and  Mignon  come  face  to  face,  very  different  are  the  feel- 
ings which  animate  their  breasts.  Olga  looks  at  the  loveliness 
before  her,  enhanced  fourfold  to-night,  with  an  admiration  as 
hearty  as  it  is  unfeigned,  but  Mignon,  with  grudging,  envious 
mortification,  is  forced  to  admit  that  Mrs.  Stratheden  is  capa- 
ble of  looking  both  young  and  beautiful.  Mignon  represents 
Snow  ;  Olga,  as  usual  in  fancy  dress,  a  French  marquise. 
Raymond  is  a  mousquetaire,  and  uncommonly  handsome  he 
looks  ;  Fred  Conyngham  makes  a  capital  priest  from  the  Bar- 
ber of  Seville ;  Sir  Tristram  is  a  Venetian  gentleman,  Lord 
Threestars  a  distinguished  Edgar  Ravenswood,  and  his  hostess 
looks  bewitching  as  a  very  incorrect  representation  of  Old 
Mother  Hubbard. 

"  I  wanted  Jo  to  come  as  the  dog,  with  a  collar  round  his 
neck,"  says  the  mischievous  little  lady,  who  has  not  in  the 
slightest  degree  overcome  her  love  of  persiflage ;  •*  but  he 
would  not.  It  was  very  ill-natured  of  him.  Then  I  tried  to 
induce  Lord  Threestars ;  but  in  vain.  So  the  public  must 
kindly  imagine  that  this  is  the  period  at  which  the  poor  dog 
is  dead." 

"  You  should  have  asked  me,"  says  Fred,  who  is  standing 
near. 

"  Oh,  you  would  have  looked  so  ferocious,  I  am  afraid  you 
would  have  frightened  the  company,"  laughs  Kitty. 

"  My  bark  is  worse  than  my  bite,"  says  Fred. 

"  I  don't  know,"  retorts  Kitty,  archly.  "  I  have  seen  your 
capabilities  for  both." 

"  I  never  bite  the  hand  that  feeds  me,"  answers  Fred,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Don't  you  ?"  asks  Mignon,  meaningly. 

"  Never  !"  he  answers,  looking  her  full  in  the  face.  (Then, 
with  a  little  bow,)  "  That  is  the  prerogative  of  your  sex." 

"  Quarrelling  as  usual !"  cries  Kitty.  "  I  am  quite  sure 
that,  in  a  previous  state,  one  of  you  must  have  been  a  cat  and 
the  other  a  dog." 

"  I  believe  we  have  all  been  animals,"  answers  Fred,  laugh- 


2GO  MJGNON. 

ing :  "  our  sex,  lions,  dogs,  wolves ;  yours,  tigers,  and  cats, 
and  foxes." 

"  You  have  forgotten  one  species  for  your  sex,"  interposes 
Mignon. 

"  Yes  ?"  says  Fred,  interrogatively. 

"  Bears  /"  replies  my  lady,  turning  on  her  heel  amid  the 
general  laugh,  in  which  Fred  joins  with  perfect  frankness. 

Mignon  flings  herself  into  a  reckless  flirtation  with  Ray- 
mond, and  the  pair  are  so  conspicuous  for  their  beauty  that 
they  cannot  escape  attention,  as  others  less  remarkable  might 
do.  Lord  Threestars,  who  finds  it  impossible  to  exchange  a 
word  in  private  with  his  hostess,  so  completely  is  she  engrossed 
with  the  devoirs  of  the  evening,  would  fain  compensate  him- 
self with  the  charms  of  his  late  lovely  hostess  ;  but  she  turns 
her  back  upon  him.  This  is  the  hour  of  Raymond's  triumph : 
this  seems  a  compensation  to  him  for  the  misery,  the  loneli- 
ness, the  longings,  of  his  banishment :  he  does  not  guess  that 
his  triumph  is  the  result  of  Mignon's  pique,  but  believes  all 
that  his  heart  most  desires  to  believe.  Lady  Bergholt  will 
not  even  grant  one  dance  to  his  rival,  humbly  though  he 
prays. 

"I  have  not  seen  Mr.  L'Estrange  for  an  age,"  she  says, 
with  a  malicious  sparkle  in  her  splendid  eyes,  "  and  I  have  so 
much  to  say  to  him.  I  have  promised  to  dance  every  round 
dance  with  him  to-night." 

"  Then  my  case  is  hopeless,"  returns  Lord  Threestars,  drop- 
ping his  glass ;  "  for  I  could  not  submit  to  be  tantalized  by 
dancing  a  square  dance  with  your  ethereal  Majesty." 

"  It  would  be  equally  useless  to  ask  for  that  either,"  says 
Mignon,  audaciously.  "I  have  promised  to  sit  out  all.  the 
square  dances  with  Mr.  L'Estrange." 

Lord  Threestars  replaces  his  glass  in  his  eye,  gives  one 
curious  little  look  at  his  fair  interlocutor,  makes  his  bow,  and 
departs. 

Raymond's  eyes  glow  with  suppressed  fire :  he  stoops  and 
murmurs  something  in  her  ear.  A  slight  color  tinges  her 
cheek,  and  she  shakes  her  head  impatiently. 

"  Do  not  begin  that !"  she  says,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Come." 
And,  as  they  glide  off  together  in  the  waltz,  all  eyes  follow 
them. 

It  is  fortunate  for  Sir  Tristram  that  he  has  elected  on  this 


MIONON.  261 

evening  to  sit  down  to  whist,  so  that  he  is  quite  unaware  of 
what  is  generally  remarked  upon  by  the  rest  of  the  company. 

Lady  Blankshire,  who  is  the  model  of  propriety,  is  shocked 
and  disgusted.  She  calls  Olga  to  her,  and  makes  some  very 
sweeping  comments  upon  Lady  Bergholt's  behavior. 

"  What  can  Sir  Tristram  be  thinking  of?"  she  cries,  virtu- 
ously indignant.  "  It  is  a  perfect  scandal  to  the  county.  I 
shall  certainly  not  invite  her  to  my  house  again  if  she  behaves 
in  this  manner :  it  is  positively  disgraceful.  This  comes  of  a 
man  marrying  a  woman  young  enough  to  be  his  daughter." 

Mrs.  Stratheden  might  easily  revenge  herself  on  Mignon  for 
many  past  rudenesses.  To  be  in  Lady  Blankshire's  black 
books  is  a  very  serious  thing  in  the  county,  and  Olga  has  only 
to  agree  with  what  her  ladyship  says,  as  indeed  she  very  well 
may. 

But  that  is  not  her  way.  She  is  never  spiteful  and  bitter 
against  other  women :  on  the  contrary,  she  makes  herself  in- 
variably the  champion  of  her  sex. 

Ah  !  if  women  were  only  loyal  to  each  other, — if  they  only 
had  the  common  sense  to  see  how  much  more  they  would 
strengthen  their  own  hands  in  standing  by  each  other  than  by 
taking  advantage  of  every  opportunity  to  pull  their  own  sex  to 
pieces, — they  would  rob  men  of  the  delight  they  take  now  in 
asserting  that  women  are  each  other's  natural  enemies.  No 
woman  thinks  well  of  a  man  who  speaks  against  his  sex :  how 
should  men  think  well  of  a  woman  who  is  guilty  of  the  same 
treachery  ? 

Olga  does  not  join  in  Lady  Blankshire's  strictures.  She  ex- 
cuses Mignon's  indiscretion  on  the  ground  of  her  youth,  her 
beauty,  the  very  innocence  that  makes  her  parade  what, 
except  for  it,  she  would  try  to  hide.  Lady  Blankshire  is  not 
easily  pacified. 

"  Really,"  she  says,  fanning  herself  in  a  severe  and  dignified 
manner,  "  the  present  state  of  society  is  disgraceful.  The 
manner  in  which  young  married  women  conduct  themselves  is 
too  shocking.  I  am  determined  not  to  give  my  countenance 
to  it.  What  with  divorces  and  esclandres,  our  best  families 
will  soon  be  decimated." 

A  little  later,  my  lady  pours  the  same  indignant  comments 
into  Kitty's  ear. 

"  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  her,"  answers  Kitty,  who,  in  truth, 


262  M1GNON. 

is  extremely  uneasy  about  her  friend,  "  and  to-morrow  I  intend 
to  give  her  a  thorough  scolding." 

"  I  fear  she  is  too  flighty  for  any  scolding  to  take  effect  upon 
her,"  says  Lady  Blankshire,  severely.  '•  I  think,  for  the  sake 
of  the  county,  some  one  should  speak  to  her  husband.  I  have 
serious  thoughts  of  proposing  to  Blankshire  to  do  it." 

"  Oh,  no,  dear  Lady  Blankshire  !  pray  don't !"  cries  Kitty, 
rly.  u  It  would  break  his  heart.  Leave  her  tome.  I 
;t— ure  you  she  does  not  care  in  the  least  for  Raymond.  It  is 
only  some  whim  she  has  taken  into  her  head." 

"  Poor  Mrs.  L'Estrange !"  utters  Lady  Blankshire,  shaking 
her  head.  "  I  always  thought  her  son  would  turn  out  badly. 
She  spoiled  him  so  as  a  boy." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  be  hard  on  Raymond,"  says  Kitty,  who 
is  a  stanch  little  champion.  "  And,  after  all,  she  is  so  very 
lovely,  it  is  only  natural  that  he  should  admire  her." 

"  My  dear,"  replies  her  ladyship,  severely,  "  there  are  limits 
where  admiration  ceases  and  impropriety  commences." 

Well  may  the  general  gaze  rest  on  that  splendid  pair,  and 
well  may  the  more  kindly-minded  of  the  spectators  say,  with  a 
tinge  of  regret, — 

"  What  a  magnificent  couple  they  would  have  made  !" 

Raymond's  beauty  is  accentuated  by  his  dress :  the  white 
wig  he  wears  throws  into  relief  his  clear-cut  features,  which 
are  lit  up  with  a  radiance  that  extreme  happiness  can  alone 
give.  To  the  outside  world,  Mignon  must  needs  seem  daz- 
zlingly  lovely ;  but  to  one  who  sought  the  graces  of  sympathy 
and  tenderness  which  best  beseem  womanhood,  her  beauty  would 
have  lacked  something.  It  was  the  charm  that  pre-eminently 
characterized  Mrs.  Stratheden. 

Lady  Clover  had  been  amused  by  Lord  Threestars'  idea  of 
the  two  women. 

u  Lady  Bergholt  ought  to  have  been  born  dumb,"  he  said. 
"  She  should  have  been  exhibited  as  some  lovely  picture  or 
statue,  and  she  would  have  charmed  the  whole  world.  As  she 
is,  one  is  always  trying  to  get  amends  by  her  beauty  for  her 
extraordinary  talent  for  froisser-ing  one's  tenderest  sensibilities. 
With  Mrs.  Stratheden,  every  time  she  opens  her  lips  she  be- 
comes more  charming,  more  fascinating,  she  endears  herself 
more  to  one,  until  one  is  surprised  to  find  oneself  thinking 
her  beautiful.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  a  positive 


MIGNON.  263 

luxury  to  have  a  great  grief,  only  to  be  consoled  by  a  woman 
like  that." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  much  in  love,"  says  Kitty,  with 
an  arch  smile. 

"  I  think  I  begin  to  know  what  love  means,"  he  answers,  in 
a  low  voice,  "  and  it  is  singularly  unlike  what  I  imagined  it 
before." 

Fred  Conyngham  is  going  about  with  a  serene  smile,  offer- 
ing liberally  to  receive  confessions  from  the  prettiest  women  in 
the  room,  but  in  his  heart  he  is  furious.  Without  appearing 
to  remark  her,  he  has  been  carefully  watching  Mignon,  and  his 
shrewd  glance  has  not  failed  to  appreciate  the  general  view 
taken  of  her  conduct  by  the  rest  of  the  company.  His  one 
great  desire  is  to  save  his  friend  the  pang  of  seeing  it  too : 
every  now  and  then  he  glides  stealthily  into  the  card-room, 
and  breathes  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  sees  Sir  Tristram  still  en« 
gaged  at  whist.  He  is  a  good  player,  and  has  been  used  to 
play  a  great  deal  before  his  marriage ;  the  three  other  players 
are  as  good  as  himself;  and,  on  the  whole,  whilst  every  one  is 
pitying  him,  he  is  spending  an  unusually  pleasant  evening. 

Not  until  they  are  driving  back  to  Bergholt  does  Fred 
breathe  freely. 

"  Did  you  enjoy  yourself,  my  darling  ?"  asks  Sir  Tristram 
of  his  lovely  wife,  as  she  throws  herself  back  in  the  carriage 
with  a  yawn. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answers,  nonchalantly :  "  it  was  very  well 
got  up,  and  the  dresses  were  exceedingly  good." 

"  I  need  not  ask  if  you  had  many  partners,"  says  Sir 
Tristram,  smiling. 

At  this  moment  they  pass  through  the  lodge-gates,  which 
are  brilliantly  lighted.  Mignon  sees  that  Fred's  eyes  are 
fixed  intently  upon  her.  The  deep  color  mounts  to  her  unwil- 
ling face. 

"  I  did  not  have  many  partners,"  she  answers,  in  a  defiant 
tone,  "  but  I  danced  as  often  as  I  felt  inclined." 

As  is  frequently  the  case,  no  suspicion  was  aroused  in  the 
mind  of  her  husband. 

Contrary  to  his  usual  habit,  Fred  scarcely  slept  at  all  that 
night,  or  rather  morning.  He  was  soliloquizing  jeremiads 
over  his  friend,  and  breathing  out  wrath  and  threatcnings 
against  his  friend's  wife :  he  had  begun  to  hate  her  very 


264  MIGNON. 

beauty,  as  though  it  were  a  leprosy.  Selfish  and  heartless 
though  she  was,  she  was  not  so  bad  as  Fred  painted  her : 
then-  was  no  word  in  his  extensive  repertoire  crude  or  expres- 
sive enough  to  embrace  all  he  felt  about  her.  He  must,  he 
would  speak  to  her,  though  she  ordered  him  out  of  the  house 
then  and  there. 

The  opportunity  he  desired  was  not  slow  to  present  itself. 
There  was  but  one  lady  guest  left  at  Bergholt,  and  she,  fatigued 
with  last  night's  exertions,  was  still  in  her  room.  Sir  Tristram 
and  two  guests  of  his  own  sex  had  gone  shooting,  very  much 
surprised  at  Fred's  defalcation.  Mignon  guessed  the  reason 
of  his  remaining  at  home,  and,  resolved  to  disappoint  him, 
hurried  away  to  the  wood.  But  Fred's  keen  eyes  had  caught 
a  vision  of  a  white  dress  flitting  past  the  shrubs,  and,  in  a 
leisurely  manner,  he  prepared  to  give  chase.  He  was  in  no 
hurry  :  the  task  before  him  required  plenty  of  consideration  ; 
it  was  more  than  delicate.  Mignon,  having  reached  the  wood, 
considered  herself  perfectly  safe,  and  had  not  the  remotest 
suspicion  of  the  foe  being  on  her  track.  When  therefore 
Fred  suddenly  appeared  close  beside  her,  she  was  the  victim 
of  a  most  unpleasant  surprise. 

"  You  make  a  charming  picture,  my  lady,"  he  says,  hating 
to  flatter  her  as  he  would  hate  to  give  the  favorite  morsel  from 
his  plute  to  a  pampered  dog  that  worried  him.  But  to  aborder 
my  lady  with  anything  but  fair  and  flattering  speech  would  be 
to  defeat  his  own  object  at  starting.  His  words  are  but  simple 
truth,  too.  It  is  a  bright,  warm  morning  for  late  September, 
and  Mignon  is  clad  in  her  favorite  white  muslin  and  lace.  She 
wears  heavy  gold  ornaments,  which  become  her  particularly 
well.  My  lady  has  quite  a  barbaric  taste  for  jewellery,  and 
never  thinks  it  out  of  place  at  any  period  of  the  day :  the 
novelty  of  weaving  handsome  ornaments  no  doubt  enhances  her 
natural  love  for  them. 

"  I  was  just  going  back  to  the  house,"  she  says,  rising 
abruptly,  and  not  attempting  to  conceal  the  fact  that  his  com- 
pany is  distasteful  to  her. 

"A  daughter  of  the  gods,  divinely  tall, 
And  most  divinely  i'air," 

quotes  Fred,  with  his  most  agreeable  smile.  There  is  nothing 
Mignou  desires  so  little  as  to  give  her  adversary  a  cue,  but  she 


MIGNON.  265 

is  innocent  of  tact,  and  can  never  resist  saying  something  snap- 
pish to  Fred. 

So  she  remarks,  with  a  curl  of  her  upper  lip  and  a  slight 
dilating  of  the  fine  nostril, — 

"  What  a  very  nasty  powder  you  must  have  hidden  behind 
so  much  sweet  I" 

"  No,"  answers  Fred,  with  an  assumption  of  bonhomie  and 
a  delightful  smile.  "  I  wish  it  all  to  be  sweet  this  morning. 
Pray  take  pity  upon  me  and  don't  run  away.  Now,  if  you 
would  only  sit  down  and  talk  to  me  for  half  an  hour,  and  let 
me  smoke  a  cigar !  I  know  you  are  one  of  the  few  of  your 
sex  who  do  not  pretend  to  object  to  it." 

"  It  depends  upon  who  the  smoker  is,"  retorts  Mignon. 

"  These  are  exactly  the  same  cigars  that  Threestars  smokes," 
says  Fred,  imperturbably,  opening  his  case.  "  I  assure  you 
the  aroma  will  be  precisely  the  same  whether  they  are  in  his 
mouth  or  mine." 

"  But  you  know,"  answers  my  lady,  who  would  not  throw 
away  a  chance  of  being  spiteful  to  Fred  for  the  world,  "  one 
often  says  one  likes  the  smell  because,  if  one  objected,  the  man 
would  go  and  smoke  somewhere  else,  and  perhaps  one  likes  his 
society." 

"  Which  does  not  apply  in  my  case,"  answers  Fred,  with  as 
pleasant  a  smile  as  though  she  had  paid  him  a  charming  com- 
pliment. 

"  Certainly  not,"  agrees  Mignon. 

"  Do  you  permit  me?"  he  asks,  his  case  still  open  in  his 
hand. 

"  Since  I  am  going,  it  does  not  matter." 

Fred  shuts  the  case  with  a  snap. 

"  I  would  rather  forego  anything  than  the  pleasure  of  your 
company.  Won't  you  sit  down  just  as  you  were?  I  should 
like  to  make  a  little  sketch  of  you." 

So  saying,  he  puts  away  his  cigar-case  and  takes  out  a  good- 
sized  pocket-book.  He  is  perfectly  aware  that  there  is  nothing 
more  fascinating  to  a  vain  woman  than  having  her  portrait 
taken. 

"  Can  you  ?"  she  asks,  doubtfully. 

For  answer  he  shows  her  three  heads  of  people  who  have 
lately  been  at  the  Court :  the  likenesses  are  unmistakable. 

Mignon  seats  herself.  In  the  first  place,  the  idea  of  being 
M  23 


266  M1GNON. 

sketched  is  agreeable  to  her ;  in  the  second,  she  does  not  know 
how  to  beguile  the  hours  until  lunch-time ;  in  the  third,  a  pas- 
sage of  arms  with  Fred  is  not  distasteful  to  her,  particularly 
when  unrestrained  by  her  husband's  presence  from  hitting  as 
hard  as  she  likes. 

"  Can  you  sit  still  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ?"  asks  Fred, 
beginning  to  sharpen  his  pencil. 

"  I  don't  know :  it  is  a  long  time." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  only  bore  you,"  suggests  Fred,  pausing 
in  his  operation. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  am  in  the  vein  this  morning,"  says 
Fred,  hanging  back  in  proportion  as  Mignon  is  becoming  eager. 
"  I  can  never  do  anything  until  I  have  had  my  smoke." 

"  Well,  have  your  smoke,"  utters  my  lady,  ungraciously. 

"  Really  ?"  asks  Fred.  "  That  is  very  kind  of  you."  And 
without  more  ado,  he  lights  a  cigar.  "  Now  I  feel  happy," 
he  says,  leaning  against  a  tree  and  looking  full  at  Mignon. 
"  You  must  not  mind  my  staring  at  you.  I  want  to  get  you 
perfectly  into  my  head  before  I  begin." 

Then  Mr.  Conyngham  lays  himself  out  to  be  agreeable. 
He  tells  her  a  host  of  little  stories  and  scandals,  which  per- 
fectly delight  her.  Fred  is  a  capital  story-teller,  and  he  is 
careful  to  say  nothing  that  can  offend  young  ears,  which  are 
generally  delicate  if  inquisitive.  So  amused  is  Mignon  that  she 
patiently  allows  him  to  smoke  the  whole  of  his  cigar, — a  favor 
he  had  not  counted  upon. 

"  Now,"  he  says,  at  last,  throwing  the  end  away,  "  may  I 
begin  my  sketch  ?" 

"  Yes,  do,"  answers  my  lady,  quite  affably. 

"  I  have  only  one  stipulation,"  says  Fred,  beginning  to  make 
rather  a  favor  of  it :  "  you  must  not  want  to  look  at  it  until  I 
have  finished." 

Mignon  promises. 

"Now,  my  lady,"  says  Fred  to  himself,  "I  think  I  have 
you  safe.  I  can  say  what  I  like.  Your  curiosity  won't  per- 
mit you  to  run  away  until  I  have  finished  your  picture." 


MIGNON.  267 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"Gondarino. — Heav'n,  if  my  sins  be  ripe  grown  to  a  Head, 
And  must  attend  your  Vengeance,  I  beg  not  to  divert  my  Fatr, 
Or  to  reprieve  a  while  thy  Punishment; 
Only  I  crave,  and  hear  me,  equal  Heav'ns, 
Let  not  your  furious  Rod,  that  must  afflict  me, 
Be  that  imperfect  Piece  of  Nature, 
That  Art  makes  up,  Woman,  unsatiate  Woman. 
Had  we  not  knowing  souls,  at  first  infus'd 
To  teach  a  difference  'twixt  Extremes  and  Good? 
Were  we  not  made  ourselves,  free,  unconfin'd 
Commanders  of  our  own  Affections? 
And  can  it  be  that  this  most  perfect  Creature, 
This  Image  of  his  Maker,  well-squar'd  man, 
Should  leave  the  Handfast  that  he  had  of  grace 
To  fall  into  a  Woman's  easy  Arms." 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

FRED  makes  a  few  strokes  with  his  pencil  in  silence.  Mig- 
non  permits  her  face  to  expand  into  a  smile,  that  he  may  have 
every  facility  for  making  a  charming  study  of  her. 

"  I  forget  if  you  know  Lady  Agnes  Lane  ?"  he  says,  pres- 
ently, without  pausing  in  his  occupation. 

"I  have  met  her,"  answers  Mignon.  "I  don't  think  her 
so  very  pretty :  do  you  ?" 

"  No  :  she  was  never  one  of  my  beauties.  I  had  news  of 
her  this  morning.  There  is  a  terrible  esclandre  about  her, 
though  it  has  not  all  come  out  yet." 

Mignon  leans  a  little  forward :  the  misdoings  and  misfortunes 
of  her  sex  have  a  lively  interest  for  her. 

"  That  makes  another  woman  over  whose  head  the  waves 
have  closed  this  season,"  remarks  Fred,  busy  at  his  sketch, 
and  only  snatching  an  occasional  glance  at  his  fair  sitter. 
"She  will  never  hold  up  her  head  again." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  says  Mignon,  unwary  of  the  snare  that 
is  being  laid  for  her. 

"Her  husband  would  have  forgiven  her;  but  she  would 
none  of  his  forgiveness,  and  insisted  on  rushing  blindfold  to 
destruction.  '  Whom  the  gods  would  slay,  they  first  deprive 


268  MIGNON. 

of  reason.'  That  applies  particularly  to  your  sex,  I  think, 
my  lady." 

"What  did  she  do?  Did  she  run  away?"  asks  Mignon, 
eagerly,  not  heeding  the  comments  with  which  Fred  garnishes 
his  tale. 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  the  story?  I  will  tell  it  you.  I 
need  not  ask  you  not  to  repeat  it:  ladies  never  do.  Your 
face  a  little  more  that  way,  if  you  please.  Lady  Agnes,  as 
every  one  knows,  was  poor,  and  Lane  was  rich,  and  a  capital 
fellow  into  the  bargain :  it  is  always  your  good  fellows  whom 
women  treat  the  worst.  He  gave  her  everything  she  could 
want,  and  was  devoted  to  her;  but,  being  a  woman,  of  course 
that  was  not  enough,  and  she  began  to  cast  about  her  how  she 
might  best  requite  his  goodness  by  treachery." 

Mignon,  eager  to  hear  the  story,  passes  over  Fred's  cynical 
strictures  on  her  sex. 

" She  had  two  or  three — -flirtations',  then  she  came  across 

B ;  a  fellow  not  fit  to  black  her  husband's  shoes.  He 

was  one  of  those  swaggering  snobs  for  whom  women  now  and 
then  conceive  such  unaccountable  fancies:  he  had  made  his 
reputation  through  the  folly  of  one  weak  woman,  arid  he  was 
very  proud  of  it.  Lady  Agnes  fell  a  speedy  victim  to  his 
fascinations:  it  was  her  pride  to  afficher  herself  everywhere 
with  him.  He  was  only  too  delighted  to  compromise  her. 
The  end  of  it  was  that,  leaving  a  note  for  her  husband,  deli- 
cately expressing  her  weariness  of  him,  and  her  unconquerable 

passion  for  his  rival,  she  fled  to  B ,  who,  I  am  told,  was 

horribly  disgusted  at  a  denouement  he  was  far  from  desiring." 

"What  a  wretch!"  cries  Mignon,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Which?"  asks  Fred,  quietly.    "  B ,  or  Lady  Agnes?" 

"  B ,  of  course,"  answers  Mignon. 

"  Lady  Agnes,  no  doubt,  looked  forward  to  a  blissful  future 
— the  world  well  lost,  etc. — in  company  with  the  adored  one. 

B ,  I  hear,  was  ungallant  enough  to  call  her  a  fool,  and  to 

decline  to  marry  her  if  Lane  obtained  a  divorce.  Lord  C , 

her  brother,  has  threatened  to  shoot  him  like  a  dog  if  he  does 
not.  Now,"  says  Fred,  pausing  in  his  sketch,  and  looking 
Lady  Bergholt  full  in  the  face,  "  picture  to  yourself  that 
woman's  future !  She  is  twenty-three  years  old ;  she  is  de- 
voted to  the  world,  has  lived  solely  upon  its  pleasures  and 

She  is  now 


MIGNON.  269 

cut  off  from  society,  cannot  show  her  face  henceforth  where 
her  own  set  congregate,  has  given  up  wealth,  luxury,  the  de- 
voted love  of  an  honest  man.  What  has  she  gained  in  ex- 
change ?  She  is  thrust  upon  a  man  who  never  loved  her,  who 
loathes  her  now,  whom  sooner  or  later  she  must  loathe  herself. 
If  they  spend  their  lives  together,  it  will  be  a  hell  of  recrimina- 
tion and  hatred  :  if  they  live  apart,  they  are  still  tied  together 
by  the  most  intolerable  of  chains.  If  she  grew  weary  of  a 
man  who  heaped  her  with  benefits  and  never  contradicted  her, 
what  will  she  be  of  a  snob  who  will  cover  her  with  humiliations 
and  who  has  not  the  redeeming  virtue  of  being  rich  ?  She  is 
the  fifth  woman  of  position  this  season  who  has  ruined  her 
future ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,"  continues  Fred,  looking  full 
at  the  fair  face  before  him,  "  it  won't  hinder  other  women  from 
doing  the  same." 

A  vivid  red  mantles  in  Mignon's  cheeks :  the  drift  of  his 
story  has  just  flashed  across  her. 

"  Did  you  come  here  after  me  on  purpose  to  tell  me  that 
story?"  she  asks,  with  kindling  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  answers  Fred,  in  his  quietest  voice,  apparently  ab- 
sorbed in  his  sketch.  "  Don't  move,  please1'  (for  she  makes  as 
though  to  rise) :  "  it  is  a  pity  to  spoil  your  picture  for  the 
sake  of  three  minutes." 

Fred  is  calculating  the  effect  of  every  word,  though  his  tone 
is  as  unconcerned  as  if  he  were  prescribing  a  remedy  for  a  cold 
in  the  head. 

"  I  want  to  warn  you,  lest  your  case  and  Lady  Agnes's  should 
ever  become  analogous.  I  do  not  think,  for  my  own  part,  that 
you  are  a  woman  to  give  up  rank  and  wealth  for  passion's  sake  ; 
but  you  are  young,  and  beautiful,  and  thoughtless,  and  I  think 
you  ought  to  know  how  seriously  you  are  compromising  your- 
self." 

All  this  in  the  same  matter-of-fact  tone,  whilst  his  pencil 
sketches  on.  He  does  not  look  up,  though  he  quite  conjectures 
the  wrath  that  flames  in  those  deep-colored  eyes. 

Lady  Bergholt  is  fairly  speechless  with  astonishment  and 
rage. 

"  Every  one  was  talking  about  you  last  night,"  continues 
Fred,  mercilessly.  "  I  did  not  pass  a  group  among  whom  you 
were  not  the  topic  of  conversation.  Lady  Blankshire  said  it 
would  be  impossible  to  invite  you  to  her  house  again." 

23* 


270  MIGNON. 

Fred  has  hit  hard  this  time. 

Mignon  crimsons  over  neck  and  brow :  she  positively  gasps 
for  breath. 

"  Lady  Blankshire  is  an  old  cat,"  she  cries,  her  rage  over- 
coming her  dignity.  "  And  I  shall  tell  her  to  mind  her  own 
business  when  I  see  her, — yes,  I  shall,  if  she  were  fifty  times 
Lady  Blankshire." 

"  I  think  she  considers  it  her  business  to  watch  over  the 
morals  and  manners  of  the  county,"  remarks  Fred. 

"  I  will  do  as  I  like,  in  spite  of  her,"  cries  Mignon,  in  a 
passion  of  impotent  wrath. 

"  It  was  not  only  Lady  Blankshire,"  proceeds  Fred,  remorse- 
lessly ;  "  there  was  not  a  woman  in  the  room  who  did  not  con- 
demn you, — except  Mrs.  Stratheden." 

"  Mrs.  Stratheden  !"  shrieks  Mignon,  fairly  beginning  to  cry 
with  rage.  "  I  believe  it  is  all  a  wicked  plot  of  hers,  and  that 
she  has  been  spreading  shameful,  abominable  lies  about  me. 
Or  else"  (with  flaming  eyes)  "  it  is  you, — yes,  you  and  she 
between  you." 

"What  I  told  you  is  gospel  truth,"  says  Fred,  quite  un- 
moved, "  and  I  have  told  you  because  it  is  right  that  you 
should  know.  I  do  not  tell  you  from  any  love  for  you,  as  you 
know :  how  could  I  care  for  you,  when  your  husband  is  the 
greatest  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  and  I  see  you  breaking 
his  heart !  The  truest,  loyallest  heart  in  the  world !"  cries 
Fred,  bursting  into  passion ;  "  and  you  would  see  and  know 
it — if  you  were  not  a  woman.  What  do  you  think  you  would 
gain  by  exchanging  him  for  that  handsome,  ill-tempered  young 
fool  L'Estrange?  How  you  would  hate  each  other  in  a 
month !" 

"  How  dare  you  mix  up  my  name  with  his !"  cries  Mignon. 
11  And  what  is  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,"  says  Fred,  gravely.  "  It  is  you  who  have 
mixed  up  your  name  with  his  by  ostentatiously  devoting  the 
whole  of  last  night  to  him,  by  permitting  him  to  betray  in 
every  gesture,  every  look,  his  passion  for  you,  which  I  must 
say  he  did  in  the  face  of  every  one  with  a  singular  want  of 
delicacy  or  consideration  for  you.  And  you  ask  what  it  is  to 
me?  Personally,  nothing.  It  can  only  affect  me  through 
the  man  who  is  my  friend.  Forgive  me  if  I  say  that  I  have 
had  pleasanter  visits  at  Bergholt  before  you  were  chatelaine 


271 

here,  and  if  it  pleased  you  to  give  up  your  chatelaineship  by 
your  own  act  I  might  look  forward  to  pleasanter  visits  again. 
So,  you  see,  my  advice  is  not  prompted  by  any  selfish  interest, 
— rather  the  other  way.  Once  more  allow  me  to  say,  If  you 
are  not  prepared  to  sacrifice  everything  for  Mr.  L'Estrange,  do 
not  draw  down  upon  yourself  the  censure  and  the  coldness  of 
every  woman  in  the  county." 

Mignon  is  fairly  cowed.  It  is  a  bitter  pang  to  her  vanity 
to  hear  that  she  has  incurred  the  disapproval  of  society,  and 
Fred's  utter  indifference  to  provoking  her  wrath  is  not  without 
its  effect. 

She  is  silent  whilst  Mr.  Conyngham  adds  a  few  rapid  touches 
to  his  sketch. 

"  I  have  finished,"  he  says,  jumping  up  as  if  no  unpleasant 
dialogue  had  taken  place  between  them.  And  he  places  his 
sketch  before  Mignon.  He  has  made  it  as  charming  as  pos- 
sible, though  the  task  of  embellishing  nature  in  this  instance 
was  not  easy. 

Mignon  condescends  to  look,  in  spite  of  her  wrath,  and, 
looking,  is  mollified. 

"  May  I  have  it  ?"  she  asks. 

"  Certainly.  I  had  no  other  intention  in  making  it  than 
of  presenting  it  to  you,  if  you  deigned  to  accept  it." 

Not  another  word  is  said  on  the  previous  subject,  and,  as 
they  walk  towards  the  house  together,  a  casual  observer  might 
believe  them  the  best  friends  in  the  world.  As  they  reach 
the  hall-door,  Lady  Clover's  carriage  is  coming  up  the  drive. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come !"  says  Mignon,  heartily. 
"  How  did  you  manage  to  get  away  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  men  have  gone  shooting,  and  the  women  are  doing 
needlework  and  tearing  their  friends  to  pieces.  I  pleaded 
important  business.  Oh,  dear  !  how  late  we  were  last  night ! 
But  what  a  charming  ball !  Mr.  Conyngham,  I  did  not  con- 
fess half  my  iniquities  to  you.  You  must  tell  me  where  I 
left  off,  and  I  will  finish  the  recital, — but  not  now.  I  am 
quite  tired,  and  my  head  aches.  Mignon,  take  me  to  your 
boudoir." 

"  This  is  unlucky,"  murmurs  Fred  to  himself.  "  I  guess 
the  errand  my  little  lady  has  come  on.  Two  in  one  morning 
will  be  too  much.  She  will  just  spoil  the  effect  of  mine." 

Lady  Clover  and  her  hostess  take  their  way  to  the  boudoir  j 


272  MIGNON. 

but,  once  there,  all  Kitty's  languor  vanishes ;  she  shuts  the 
door  firmly,  and,  placing  herself  before  Mignon,  says,  reso- 
lutely— 

"  I  have  come  to  scold  you.  I  am  very  angry  with  you 
indeed.  How  could  you  behave  so  last  night  ?" 

Now,  Lady  Bergholt  is  chafing  and  furious  from  Fred's 
attack,  and  is  not  at  all  in  the  humor  to  receive  a  second 
lecture :  so,  instead  of  taking  impetuous  Kitty's  remarks  in 
good  part,  she  stiffens  her  back,  and  says,  with  extreme 
hauteur, — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.     I  do  not  understand  you." 

Lady  Clover  is  a  little  taken  aback. 

"  My  dear,"  she  says,  with  more  dignity  than  one  would 
expect  from  so  small  and  youthful  a  personage,  "  I  have  come 
here  at  great  inconvenience  this  morning,  solely  for  friend- 
ship's sake,  to  warn  you." 

"That  is  what  all  meddlers  and  busybodies  say,"  retorts 
Mignon.  "  I  can  only  say  I  regret  your  having  put  yourself 
to  great  inconvenience  on  my  account." 

"  Mignon  !"  cries  Kitty,  surprise  and  anger  fighting  for 
mastery. 

"  Lady  Clover !"  says  Mignon,  defiantly. 

Kitty  is  half  minded  to  turn  her  back  upon  her  friend  and 
go  home  again.  She  walks  to  the  window  to  collect  herself; 
whilst  Lady  Bergholt  sits  down  calmly  and  plays  with  a  paper- 
knife  :  the  old,  mulish  look  is  on  her  lovely  face. 

Presently  Kitty  comes  to  the  table. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you,"  she  says,  gently. 
"  I  have  not  known  you  very  long :  still,  we  have  been  friends, 
and  I  am  fond  of  you.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me !  I  am 
only  saying  to  you  what  I  would  say  to  my  own  sister,  if  I 
had  one." 

Lady  Bergholt  is  silent. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  care  about  Raymond  really," 
proceeds  Kitty,  earnestly :  "  then  why  should  you  let  him 
compromise  you  ?" 

"  Compromise  !"  repeats  Mignon,  angrily.  "  I  am  sick  of 
the  word !" 

"  Has  some  one  else  been  talking  to  you?"  asks  Kitty, 
eagerly.  "  If  they  have  they  are  quite  right.  Oh,  Mignon  ! 
I  know  you  don't  mean  anything,  but  Raymond  does :  it  is  a 


MIGNON.  273 

triumph  to  him  for  you  to  let  him  devote  himself  to  you  as  he 
did  last  night,  and  every  one  was  talking  about  it  and  shrug- 
ging their  shoulders.  And  Lady  Blankshire " 

"  I  don't  care  a  pin  for  Lady  Blankshire  !"  cries  Mignon, 
wrathfully.  "  I  suppose  I  have  my  own  position  in  the  county, 
and  am  not  dependent  upon  her  patronage." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  says  Kitty,  reluctantly,  "  that  if  she  went 
against  you,  all  the  county  would  go  after  her.  But  don't 
let  us  suppose  such  a  thing  for  a  moment ! — she  won't  go 
against  you :  you  won't  give  her  cause.  Is  Raymond  worth 
it?" 

"  Yes,"  answers  Mignon,  wilfully.  She  does  not  mean  it, 
but  a  passionate  resistance  has  been  roused  in  her. 

"  What !"  cries  Kitty,  aghast. 

"  If  you  are  tied  to  an  old  man  you  don't  care  for,"  says 
Mignon,  coldly,  "  what  more  natural  than  to  fancy  a  man  who 
is  young  and  handsome  and  who  adores  you  ?" 

Kitty  feels  a  chill  creeping  through  her  veins :  she  was  not 
prepared  for  this. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  she  whispers,  in  a  horrified  voice, 
"  that,  having  a  husband  like  Sir  Tristram,  who  is  so  good 
to  you,  who  worships  you,  who  has  given  you  everything  you 
possess,  you,  you  dare  to — good  heavens  !  how  shall  I  say  it ! 
— you  dare  to  think  of  another  man  as — as  a  lover?" 

"  Why  not?"  asks  Mignon,  defiantly.  She  is  in  a  reckless 
mood,  and  takes  a  pleasure  in  making  herself  out  ten  times 
worse  than  she  is.  "  You  are  similarly  circumstanced :  you 
ought  to  understand.  I  dare  say  if  you  took  a  fancy  to  a 
young  man,  you  would  do  very  much  as  I  do." 

"  Never !"  cries  Kitty,  with  passionate  energy.  "If  I 
thought  I  could  be  false  to  the  man  who  trusts  me,  and  to 
whom  I  have  sworn  to  be  faithful,  I  would  drown  myself  or 
take  poison  !  If  I  felt  myself  beginning  to  care  for  any  other 
man,  I  would  go  to  my  husband  and  confess  it  to  him,  and 
never  see  the  man  again.  To  be  so  mean,  so  base  \'to  take 
all  a  man  can  give  you,  to  swear  to  be  true  to  him,  and  then 
to  treat  him  with  contempt,  as  if  he  were  a  thing  to  be  de- 
spised, just  because  he  loves  and  trusts  you  so  entirely  !  Oh, 
I  can  understand  a  woman  whose  husband  ill-treats  her,  who 
is  cruel  and  unfaithful  to  her,  revenging  herself  by  flying  to 
another  man, — small  revenge,  poor  soul,  if  she  is  a  woman ; 
M* 


274  MJGNON. 

but  a  man  who  has  heaped  you  with  benefits,  whose  heart  you 
break  by  your  wickedness " 

"  Pooh  !"  says  Mignon,  coldly :  "  don't  be  so  high-flown ! 
I  am  not  gone  yet." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  stop  ?  Where  do  you  intend  to 
draw  the  line  ?"  cries  Kitty,  exasperated.  "  If  you  are  only 
playing  with  Raymond,  and  leading  him  on,  what  will  he  do 
when  he  finds  you  out  ?  And  if  you  behave  to  him  and  let 
him  behave  to  you  as  you  did  last  night,  how  will  you  make 
the  world  believe  there  is  no  harm  in  it  ?" 

"Harm?"  exclaims  Mignon,  reddening.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Ah,"  returns  Kitty,  "  I  dare  say  you  don't  know  the  sort 
of  things  men  think  and  say  about  women :  I  don't  suppose 
Sir  Tristram  tells  you.  They  don't  believe  in  a  woman  flirt- 
ing with  a  man  and  letting  him  make  love  to  her  harmlessly : 
they  are  so  wicked  themselves,  and  their  minds  are  such  sinks 
of  iniquity,  things  that  seem  trifles  to  us  they  magnify  into 
enormities.  Do  you  think  /  would  give  them  a  chance  to 
sneer  at  me,  and  say  horrid  things  behind  my  back,  and  shrug 
their  shoulders  at  me,  when  all  the  time  I  knew  I  was  virtu- 
ous and  innocent?  Pah  !"  (with  a  gesture  of  disgust),  "  it  is 
so  common  nowadays  to  be  lightly  thought  of,  it  is  something 
to  make  oneself  respected." 

Mignon's  eyes  are  ablaze  with  wrath. 

"  If  you  came  here  for  the  sole  purpose  of  insulting  me, 
Lady  Clover,"  she  cries,  "  I  am  sorry  you  put  yourself  to  the 
great  inconvenience  of  coming." 

"  No,  no,  dear,"  cries  Kitty,  running  to  her ;  "  I  came  with 
nothing  but  kind  intentions  as  friend  to  friend,  as  you  might 
have  come  to  me  if  our  positions  had  been  reversed." 

Mignon  pushes  her  away. 

"You  are  no  friend  of  mine,"  she  says,  wrathfully;  "and 
I  only  hope  I  shall  never  see  you  again.  I  shall  not  trouble 
Elmor  with  my  presence,  you  may  be  quite  sure ;  and  I  hope 
you  will  not  give  me  the  trouble  of  refusing  to  see  you  by 
coming  here." 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  !"  answers  Kitty,  whose  temper  is  thor- 
oughly roused  by  this  time.  "  May  I  trouble  you  to  order  my 
carriage  ?  I  will  walk  towards  the  lodge,  and  it  can  overtake 
me." 


MIGNON.  275 

With  this  she  opens  the  door  and  departs.  Fred  is  in  the 
hall ;  he  sees  that  something  serious  has  happened,  and  fol- 
lows her  in  silence  as  she  leaves  the  house. 

"  Your  mission  has  been  unsuccessful,  then?"  he  whispers, 
as  he  walks  beside  her  down  the  avenue. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  !  don't  look  at  me  !"  cries  Kitty,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes.  "  I  hate  everything  and  everybody !  I 
should  like  to  burn  every  man  and  drown  every  woman  !  All 
men  are  wretches,  monsters,  selfish,  wicked,  good-for-nothing 
creatures  ;  and  as  for  women,  they  are " 

"  What  ?"  asks  Fred,  calmly. 

"  Worse !"  cries  Kitty,  in  a  fury.  "  I  have  no  patience 
with  them." 

"  And  pray  what  are  you ?"  says  Fred.  "Are  you  wicked, 
and  a  wretch,  and  a  monster?" 

"  Worse !  worse  !  it  is  a  dreadful  word  to  say,  but  I  am  a 
FOOL." 

"Ah,  my  dear  little  lady,"  answers  Fred,  "  we  can  most  of 
us  lay  that  flattering  unction  to  our  souls  at  some  period  of 
our  lives.  Now  let  me  translate  your  mystic  language.  In 
the  goodness  of  your  heart,  you  came  to  give  your  fair  friend 
a  little  advice,  and  she  has  not  taken  it  in  the  spirit  you 
intended  it." 

"  I  was  never  so  insulted,"  cries  Kitty.  "  She  positively 
ordered  me  out  of  the  house,  and  begged  I  would  never  enter 
it  again." 

"  Unfortunately,  you  see,"  says  Fred,  "  I,  innocent  of  your 
excellent  intentions,  had  just  been  performing  the  same  office ; 
and  two  lectures  in  one  morning  proved  too  much  for  our 
lovely  hostess,  who,  by  the  way,  has  a  bit  of  a  temper." 

"  If  I  had  only  known  !"  laments  Kitty.  "  And  the  trouble 
and  inconvenience  I  put  myself  to  to  come  ! — the  excuses  I 
had  to  make  ! — the  stories  I  had  to  tell !  Oh,  what  shall  I 
do?"  (suddenly  breaking  off).  "Here  comes  Sir  Tristram. 
What  can  I  say  to  him  ?" 

"  Kitty  !"  cries  Sir  Tristram,  as  he  approaches,  "  and  com- 
ing away  from  the  house  !  What  does  this  mean  ?" 

Kitty  excuses  her  departure  in  so  innocent  and  plausible  a 
fashion  that  Fred  says  to  himself, — 

"  What  fools  we  are  to  think  so  much  of  Macchiavelli, 
when  there  is  one  lurking  in  every  petticoat !  I've  got  a 


276  MIONON. 

pretty  cool  head,  I  flatter  myself,  but  /  couldn't  have  got  out 
of  it  in  that  fashion." 

"What  made  Kitty  start  off  just  at  lunch-time?"  Sir 
Tristram  asks  Mignon. 

Fred,  the  only  other  person  present,  is  anxious  to  hear  her 
answer. 

"  She  is  an  odidus  little  hypocrite,"  answers  Mignon,  vin- 
dictively, "  and  I  never  want  to  see  her  again." 

"  I  trust  you  have  not  been  quarrelling  ?"  says  Sir  Tristram, 
looking  distressed. 

"  Yes,  we  have,  very  much  quarrelling,"  answers  my  lady. 

"  What  on  earth  about?"  asks  her  husband. 

"  Nothing  that  concerns  you,"  replies  Mignon,  meeting  his 
inquiring  eyes  full. 

"  For  telling  you  a  lie,  and  looking  you  straight  in  the  face, 
commend  me  to  a  woman  !"  soliloquizes  Fred. 

I  am  ashamed  to  chronicle  his  savage  cynicisms  on  the  fair 
sex  ;  but  some  men  are  such  brutes,  and  I  hope  all  lady  readers 
will  revenge  themselves  by  detesting  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"And  let  me  ask,  How  can  that  crime  be  considered  pardonable 
in  a  man  which  renders  a  woman  infamous?  .  .  .  Men  in  the  pride 
of  their  hearts  are  apt  to  suppose  that  nature  has  designed  them  to  be  su- 
perior to  women.  The  highest  proof  that  can  be  given  of  such  supe- 
riority is  the  protection  afforded  by  the  stronger  to  the  weaker.  What 
can  that  man  say  for  his  pretension  who  employs  all  his  arts  to  seduce 
and  betray  the  creature  wnom  he  should  guide  and  protect  ?" 

Sir  Charles  Grandison. 

KITTY  is  boiling  over  with  wrath  as  she  drives  home  from 
her  unsatisfactory  interview  with  Mignon.  To  put  yourself  to 
considerable  inconvenience  for  friendship's  sake,  to  drive  many 
hours  in  the  hot  sun  for  the  purpose  of  telling  a  truth  that, 
however  unpalatable,  is  none  the  less  the  truth,  to  assume, 
after  much  consideration  robbed  from  sleep,  the  delicate  and 
difficult  role  of  Mentor,  and  in  return  for  all  these  sacrifices 
offered  at  the  shrino  of  friendship,  to  be  morally  slapped  in 


MIGNON.  277 

the  face,  is  naturally  very  injurious  to  the  feelings.  Kitty  is 
disposed  to  forswear  friendship  forever,  and  to  take  a  jaundiced 
view  of  human  nature.  Had  the  patient  and  sympathizing 
Sir  Jo  been  with  her,  she  would  doubtless  have  poured  her 
wrongs  and  resentment  into  his  kindly  ear  ;  but  the  drive  gives 
her  leisure  to  cool  down,  and  by  the  time  she  drives  into  the 
gates  of  her  own  park  she  has  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she 
will  spare  herself  the  mortification  of  confessing  her  failure. 

"  Because,"  she  argues  to  herself,  "  Jo  might  say, '  If  you  had 
asked  my  advice,  I  should  have  recommended  you  not  to  inter- 
fere,' and  then  I  should  be  obliged  to  quarrel  with  him,  and, 
though  I  hate  every  one,  I  would  rather  not  quarrel  any  more 
to-day,  because  it  makes  me  feel  bad  afterwards." 

So  the  little  diplomatist  decks  her  face  with  smiles,  answers 
all  questions  about  her  morning's  drive  as  gayly  as  though  it 
had  been  crowned  with  perfect  success,  and  deludes  every  one 
as  completely  as  she  desires. 

Kitty  has  a  kind  little  heart,  if  her  temper  is  warm  ;  the 
sun  rarely  sets  upon  her  wrath ;  and  before  night  she  has  for- 
given Mignon's  treatment  of  her  (though  she  does  not  intend 
ever  to  go  to  Bergholt  again  unless  atonement  is  made  for  her 
late  injuries),  and  is  casting  about  how  to  retard  or  stop  the 
impending  ruin  of  her  wilful  friend's  life. 

"  Olga  would  be  the  person,"  she  says  to  herself:  "  she  has 
so  much  more  tact  and  patience  than  I  have.  But  then  Mig- 
non  hates  her  so.  Ah!"  as  a  thought  strikes  her,  "but  she 
might  talk  to  Raymond :  she  has  a  great  deal  of  influence 
over  him.  Let  me  see  !  I  can't  very  well  go  to  her  to-day 
or  to-morrow,  but  I  can  write  to  her,  and,  happy  thought,  send 
the  letter  by  Lord  Threestars." 

Lady  Clover  retires  to  her  boudoir  and  indites  a  letter,  long, 
and  copiously  underlined,  to  Mrs.  Stratheden.  This  she  en- 
closes in  two  envelopes,  in  the  outer  one  of  which  she  slips  a 
little  note  :  "  Don't  read  the  inside  letter  until  you  are  alone. 
Send  a  line  or  an  empty  envelope  back  by  Lord  T.,  that  the 
poor  man  may  not  be  put  to  the  blush  by  knowing  that  I  am 
only  giving  him  this  commission  as  an  excuse  for  making  him 
happy." 

"  Oh,  Lord  Threestars !"  cries  Kitty,  innocently,  putting 
her  head  into  the  smoking-room,  "  I  wonder  whether  you 
would  do  something  for  me  ?" 

24 


278  MIONON. 

"You  need  not  wonder,"  he  returns,  gallantly:  "you 
ought  to  be  quite  sure." 

"  I  want  most  particularly  to  send  something  to  Mrs.  Strath- 
eden,  and  I  must  have  an  answer  this  evening.  Would  you 
mind  riding  over  with  it?" 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  answers  my  lord,  with  alacrity. 

"  Oh,  thanks  !  it  is  so  good  of  you.  Will  you  ring  and  say 
what  horse  you  will  ride?  and  I  will  just  finish  my  letter." 

"  What  a  little  darling  she  is,"  soliloquizes  Lord  Threestars, 
— "  worth  fifty  of  her  lovely  friend  at  Bergholt." 

It  is  not  far  from  midnight  when  Olga  has  leisure  to  peruse 
Kitty's  letter.  She,  too,  has  been  thinking  much  about  the 
events  of  the  previous  evening,  and  is  smitten  with  pity  not 
only  for  Sir  Tristram,  but  for  his  wilful  wife.  With  Ray- 
mond she  is  more  than  half  disposed  to  be  angry. 

"  As  if  I  or  any  one  else  could  do  anything !"  she  says,  sor- 
rowfully, as  she  lays  the  letter  down.  "  Raymond  has  been 
spoiled  all  his  life ;  now  his  desires  have  become  necessities. 
His  moral  perceptions  are  blunted,  and  the  only  sense  of  honor 
he  has  would  dictate  him  to  fight  the  husband  after  ruining 
his  happiness.  I  don't,  I  cannot,  think  she  is  a  woman  to 
sacrifice  herself  for  love's  sake ;  but  if  she  goes  on  as  she 
began  last  night,  she  will  almost  as  effectually  ruin  her  posi- 
tion and  embitter  "her  future.  If  Raymond  would  only  go 
away  !  How  dare  men  pretend  to  call  such  selfishness  love  1" 
murmurs  Olga,  indignantly. 

In  the  end,  she  resolves  to  make  the  effort  to  influence  Ray- 
mond for  good.  All  her  guests  are  to  leave  early  on  the 
morning  next  but  one,  and  she  writes  to  ask  him  to  come  to 
her.  And  with  the  morning  he  comes. 

"  And  so  you  are  alone  once  more.  Thank  heaven !"  And, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  he  throws  himself  into  one  of  the  luxu- 
rious chairs  in  the  boudoir  where  he  has  been  ushered. 
"  What  a  bore  it  is  to  have  people  in  the  house  ! — one  can 
never  call  one's  soul  one's  own.  That's  the  one  redeeming 
point  of  my  mother's  delicacy,  as  she  calls  it:  we  are  not 
troubled  by  many  visitors.  Well,"  for  Olga  is  looking  at  him 
half  indulgently,  half  sadly,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  First 
of  all,  though,  let  me  tell  you  what  you  must  be  heartily  sick 
of  hearing  by  now, — the  ball  was  the  most  perfect  thing  in 
the  world :  no  one  but  you  could  have  done  it  in  the  country. 


MIONON.  279 

And"  (liis  eyes  kindling)  "  it  was  the  very  happiest  night  of 
my  life." 

"Was  it?"  asks  Olga,  quietly.  "It  ought  not  to  have 
been." 

"  Why  ?"  asks  Raymond. 

"  Because,  my  dear,"  she  returns,  firmly,  "  you  were  prob- 
ably doing  more  harm  than  you  ever  did  in  your  life  before." 

His  handsome  brows  bend. 

"  Good  heaven !"  he  exclaims,  petulantly.  "  I  trust  you 
have  not  sent  for  me  to  read  me  a  lecture." 

"  No,  not  to  lecture  ;  that  is  too  hard  a  word ;  not  even  to 
advise ;  only  to  entreat  you,  for  your  own  sake  and  for  hers." 

Raymond  shakes  his  head  impatiently. 

"  These  things  are  not  to  be  argued  and  reasoned  about. 
Great  love  soars  above  cut-and-dried  maxims  and  petty  moral 
precepts." 

"  Selfish  love  does ;  not  great  love.  Those  who  think  them- 
selves able  to  soar  above  the  laws  that  honor  and  right  have 
dictated  must  fall  sooner  or  later.  To  love  perfectly  is  to  de- 
sire of  all  things  the  welfare  of  the  beloved  one, — to  be  ready 
even  to  sacrifice  self  for  her  sake." 

Olga's  voice  is  low  and  pleading :  she  does  not  wish  to  irri- 
tate him. 

"  All  that  sounds  very  fine,  and  would  read  extremely  well 
in  print,"  he  retorts ;  "  but  what  man  who  really  loved  ever 
put  such  theories  into  practice  ?" 

"  Many  !"  answers  Olga,  warmly  :  "  only  the  world  seldom 
hears  of  them  :  they  don't  publish  their  devotion  in  the  shame 
of  the  woman  they  profess  to  love." 

"  Shame  !"  echoes  Raymond,  hotly.  "  That  is  a  word  coined 
by  prudes  and  hypocrites :  it  does  not  apply  in  cases  like  these. 
A  man  meets,  too  late,  the  woman  he  feels  God  created  for  him ; 
some  flaw  of  Fate  has  made  her  another's :  he  takes  her  and 
makes  her  honorably  his  so  soon  as  the  power  is  given  him. 
Where  is  the  shame  ?" 

Olga  could  almost  smile  at  this  strange  perversion  of  right, 
if  she  were  not  so  grieved.  To  reason  about  right  and  wrong 
is  waste  of  time,  she  feels :  so  she  tries  another  tack. 

"  How  can  you  reconcile  it  to  your  pride,"  she  says,  "  that 
the  woman  you  loved  should  in  every  way  be  the  worse  for 
you?" 


280  MIGNON. 

"  How  the  worse  ?"  he  cries,  indignantly,  starting  up  and 
pacing  about  the  room  ;  "  how  the  worse  ?  I  may  not  be  as  rich 
as  Sir  Tristram,  but  I  am  rich  enough  to  gratify  the  whims  of 
a  woman  not  too  unreasonable.  I  certainly  have  no  title  ;  but 
don't  you  think  that  my  love  would  compensate  her  for  one  or 
two  paltry  worldly  advantages." 

"  Advantages,  too,  that  would  be  of  no  use  to  her  when  she 
had  placed  herself  out  of  the  pale  of  society,"  adds  Olga, 
calmly. 

She  has  dealt  a  hard  blow,  but  she  meant  it.  He  looks  up 
at  her  with  eyes  flashing  with  wrath. 

"So  you  too,"  he  cries,  stung  to  the  quick,  "are  like  the 
rest  of  your  sex,  delighted  to  trample  upon  another  woman, 
particularly  if  she  is  beautiful?" 

Olga  looks  up  quietly  at  him. 

"  Raymond  !"  she  says,  simply  ;  but  it  is  enough. 

"  No,  no  !"  he  cries.  "  Forgive  me :  I  know  you  are  not. 
But  why  did  you  say  such  a  hard  thing?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  want,  either  for  myself  or  the  rest  of  my 
sex,  to  have  the  delight  of  trampling  upon  her.  And,  between 
ourselves,  Raymond,  do  you  not  think  Lady  Bergholt  is  a 
woman  who  particularly  prizes  social  honors  and  distinction  ? 
Don't  you  think  in  your  heart  of  hearts  that,  once  the  glamour 
of  love  gone,  she  would  sorely  miss  the  things  she  sets  such 
store  by  now  ?  Of  course  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  whether 
she  cares  for  you :  I  can  but  be  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
judge  by  what  I  see.  Now  she  is  the  lovely  Lady  Bergholt, 
courted,  admired,  surrounded  by  all  her  heart  can  desire, 
shielded  by  a  love  that  cannot,  I  think,  be  less  than  yours.  If 
she  leaves  her  husband  for  you,  there  must  be  a  period  during 
which  she  will  be  disgraced  and  compelled  to  hide  from  the  world. 
When  you  had  made  her  your  wife,  she  would  be  pointed  at, 
looked  askance  at,  subject  to  a  thousand  humiliations  ;  and  if 
at  last  she  lived  it  down,  it  could  only  be  when  the  best  years 
of  her  life  were  gone.  For  a  very  long  time  you  would  both 
be  compelled  to  lead  a  life  of  great  retirement  and  seclusion  to 
ward  off  the  penalties  society  inflicts  on  those  who  defy  her 
laws.  As  yet  you  are  comparatively  children  ;  you  both  love 
pleasure  and  excitement :  life  is  now  open  at  its  fairest  page 
for  you,  and  with  your  own  hand  you  want  to  blot  out  all  its 
promises  and  to  turn  it  to  misery  and  disappointment." 


MIGNON.  281 

"  It  will  only  be  open  at  its  fairest  page  for  me,"  cries  Ray- 
mond, "  when  Mignon  is  mine.  And  in  spite  of  all  your 
remarks,  my  dear,  which  I  have  read  a  thousand  times  in 
books,  but  which  I  admit  gain  immeasurably  by  your  charm- 
ing voice  and  eloquent  eyes,  I  believe  that  our  love  would 
compensate  us  for  all  the  arrows  the  world  might,  and  no  doubt 
would,  launch  at  us." 

Olga  is  forced  to  admit  herself  foiled  in  her  second  attack. 
She  tries  a  third. 

"  And  do  you  believe  in  your  heart,"  she  asks,  looking  at 
him  steadily,  "  that  Lady  Bergholt  has  any  real  feeling  for 
you  beyond  a  momentary  caprice,  a  wilful,  childish  desire  "to 
set  the  proprieties  at  defiance  and  assert  her  own  freedom  and 
independence?" 

This  is  a  bold  stroke,  and  Olga  is  perfectly  aware  on  what 
delicate  ground  she  is  treading ;  but  she  puts  the  question  in 
a  natural  voice,  as  though  it  were  one  of  the  simplest  nature. 
And  Raymond,  taken  unawares,  answers  her  quite  straight- 
forwardly. 

"  I  do  believe  she  cares  for  me.  It  is  true  she  always  turns 
the  subject,  and  pretends  to  laugh  when  I  want  her  to  be 
serious ;  but  that  is  her  way.  And,  after  all"  (with  a  shade 
of  bitterness),  "  who  can  understand  a  woman  ? — what  man, 
at  least  ?  I  suppose  you  see  through  each  other,  and  that's 
why  you  think  so  little  of  each  other." 

Olga  smiles. 

"  I  forgive  you,  my  dear :  when  you  are  older  you  will  know 
better.  It  is  a  trick  of  very  young  men,  burdened  with  the 
weight  of  their  vast  experience,  to  sneer  at  and  speak  lightly 
of  women :  as  the  years  go  by,  if  they  are  worth  anything, 
they  learn  to  think  differently.  There  must  be  something  very 
wrong  about  the  man  who,  after  twenty  or  thirty  years'  expe- 
rience of  women,  has  only  evil  to  record  of  them." 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  down  from  that  altitude  of  wisdom 
that  your  superior  age  gives  you,"  laughs  Raymond. 

"  It  is  such  a  very  doubtful  advantage  that  I  am  glad  to 
make  all  I  can  of  it,"  answers  Olga,  in  the  same  vein. 

But  she  is  infinitely  reassured  in  her  mind.  If  Raymond 
has  been  unable  to  win  Lady  Bergholt  to  a  serious  frame  of 
mind,  there  is,  she  thinks,  comparatively  little  harm  done. 
She  does  not  recur  to  the  subject,  and  Raymond,  glad  to  be 

24* 


282  MIGNON. 

let  off  so  easily,  does  his  best  to  make  himself  agreeable.  After 
lunch,  Olga  rides  back  with  him  as  far  as  the  gates  of  L'Es- 
trange  Hall,  and  they  part  the  best  of  friends. 

Meantime,  the  subject  of  all  this  discussion  is  in  a  state  of 
high  dudgeon,  and,  short  of  running  away  with  Raymond,  she 
is  ready  to  do  anything  to  show  her  contempt  and  defiance  of 
her  officious  advisers.  Mr.  Conyngham's  pungent  remarks 
had  made  a  decided  impression  upon  her,  and,  but  for  Kitty's 
unfortunate  visit,  might  have  taken  root  and  flowered  into 
discretion ;  but  innocent,  well-meaning  little  Lady  Clover  had 
stirred  up  the  seeds  of  wrath  and  defiance  in  her  heart,  and 
entirely  choked  all  that  Fred  had  sown.  My  lady  cast  about 
her  how  best  to  outrage  the  proprieties  and  fling  up  her  pretty 
heels  in  the  face  of  "  that  old  cat,"  Lady  Blankshire.  And, 
after  considerable  reflection,  a  very  pretty  piece  of  mischief 
comes  into  her  head.  Fired  by  the  success  of  Mrs.  Strath- 
eden's  fancy-ball,  she  has  determined  to  give  one  herself;  and 
we  may  be  sure  that  when  she  asks  Sir  Tristram's  consent  with 
an  excellent  grace,  being  rather  deferential  on  account  of  the 
largeness  of  her  request,  he  accords  it  with  but  slight  hesita- 
tion. The  invitations  are  all  issued  when  the  brilliant  inspira- 
tion that  is  to  shock  and  defy  the  whole  county  comes  into 
Mignon's  lovely  head.  When  Sir  Tristram  looks  over  the 
list  of  the  invited,  among  whom  are  included  the  Earl  and 
Countess  of  Blankshire,  he  observes  that  the  names  of  Sir 
Josias  and  Lady  Clover  are  missing. 

"  Why,  my  love,"  he  remarks,  in  surprise,  "you  have  for- 
gotten the  Clovers." 

"  Oh,  no,"  replies  Mignon.    "  I  do  not  intend  to  ask  them." 

Sir  Tristram  knits  his  brows,  and  says,  with  more  firmness 
than  is  his  custom  when  addressing  his  wife, — 

"  I  would  rather  not  give  the  ball  than  that  it  should  be  a 
cause  of  affront  to  some  of  our  most  intimate  friends." 

"  She  insulted  me,"  cries  Mignon,  "  and  I  will  certainly  not 
ask  her." 

"  What  did  she  do?  what  did  she  say?"  asks  Sir  Tristram. 
"  If  you  will  tell  me  the  real  state  of  affairs,  it  may  lead  me 
to  think  differently." 

"  I  tell  you  she  insulted  me,"  answers  Mignon,  sulkily.  "  I 
think  you  might  take  my  word  for  it,  without  asking  any  more 
questions." 


MIGNON.  283 

"  But,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  smiling,  "  you  fair  ladies  are  apt 
to  fall  out  about  matters  that  our  graver  minds  treat  per- 
haps too  lightly.  Come,  darling !  what  did  she  say  ?  Did  she 
tell  you  that  your  gown  was  unbecoming,  or  that  you  had  a 
freckle  on  your  nose  ?" 

"  You  may  laugh  as  much  as  you  please,"  replies  Mignon, 
with  dignity,  "  but  I  tell  you  she  insulted  me,  and  that  /won't 
write  the  invitation." 

"  Then  I  must,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  and  accordingly  does. 

But  Kitty  is  by  no  means  behind  her  late  friend  in  spirit. 
Observing  that  the  card  is  filled  up  in  Sir  Tristram's  hand, 
she  writes  a  curt  little  note,  regretting  that  Sir  Josias  and  she 
are  unable  to  accept  Lady  Bergholt's  invitation.  Excepting 
that  Mignon  would  like  Lady  Clover  to  be  witness  of  the  act 
of  defiance  she  intends  to  commit  at  the  ball,  she  is  not  at  all 
displeased.  She  considers  herself  a  much  greater  personage 
than  Kitty,  and  thinks  the  latter  will  be  the  sufferer  by  their 
mutual  coldness. 

When  the  answers  arrive,  Mignon  is  disappointed  to  find 
that,  in  consequence  of  a  visit  to  be  paid  in  the  South,  Lady 
Blankshire  will  not  be  present  at  her  ball ;  but  the  refusals  are 
very  few,  and  she  counts  on  a  goodly  gathering.  To  Fred's 
surprise,  she  has  insisted  on  his  coming  back  for  it  after  a  visit 
further  North  :  he  is  unsuspicious  of  any  treachery  lurking 
behind  her  civility,  which  has  greatly  increased  since  their 
conversation  in  the  wood. 

"She  is  afraid  of  me,"  chuckles  Fred.  "Next  to  love, 
there  is  nothing  it  is  so  desirable  to  inspire  as  fear."  And  he 
consents  with  quite  a  good  grace,  though  balls  are  not  in  his 
line. 

More  than  once,  Mignon  has  been  asked  what  she  intends 
to  wear,  but  she  only  smiles,  shakes  her  head,  and  says,  "  You 
will  see  when  the  time  comes."  Sir  Tristram  does  not  ask 
twice :  he  only  imagines  that  she  intends  to  charm  every  one 
by  some  pretty  little  caprice.  So  when,  on  the  evening  of  the 
ball,  she  appears  simply  but  most  becomingly  dressed,  as  Mar- 
guerite, every  one  is  surprised. 

"Nothing  could  be  nicer,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  with  a  fond 
smile ;  "  but,  my  dear,  I  think  there  was  hardly  any  necessity 
for  so  much  mystery." 

Fred,  who  is  gifted  with  a  rapid  intelligence,  is  seized  by  a 


284  MIQNON. 

horrible  misgiving,  which  he  tries  to  pooh-pooh.  "  She  would 
not  dare  !"  he  says  to  himself:  "  he  could  not  do  it !" 

Most  of  the  invited  have  arrived.  Raymond  is  one  of  the 
few  tardy  guests.  Fred,  from  some  unaccountable  instinct,  has 
kept  near  his  host  and  hostess,  but  for  a  moment  has  crossed 
the  room  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Stratheden.  They  are  chatting  to- 
gether, when  suddenly  he  catches  sight  of  something  that 
causes  him  to  start  and  turn  a  shade  paler.  Olga  follows  the 
direction  of  his  eyes :  "  I  was  right.  D — n  her !"  mutters 
Fred,  savagely,  between  his  clenched  teeth.  Then  his  eyes 
meet  Olga's,  which  wear  a  startled  look.  "  Excuse  me  a  mo- 
ment," he  says,  and  follows  Raymond,  who  is  making  his  way 
to  his  host  and  hostess.  He  is  dressed  as  Faust.  This  is  the 
little  surprise  that  Mignon  has  prepared  with  so  much  delight 
and  secrecy  for  her  friends.  Raymond  looks  more  than  usually 
handsome :  there  is  an  unwonted  color  in  his  cheeks,  and  his 
eyes  sparkle  with  uneasy  fire.  Fred,  close  upon  his  heels, 
scrutinizes  narrowly  the  bearing  of  Sir  Tristram  and  Lady 
Bergholt.  He  sees  the  former  turn  a  shade  paler,  and  his 
wife  smile  and  blush ;  then  he  joins  the  group.  On  every 
side  he  sees  curious,  wondering  looks ;  people  are  whispering 
together.  At  this  moment  he  could  without  pity  have  seen 
Mignon  burned  at  the  stake.  But  Fred  has  tact,  and  he  puts 
on  his  most  jovial  air. 

"  How  are  you,  L'Estrange?  What  a  capital  get-up  !  If 
I  had  only  known,  I  would  have  come  as  Mephistophelss." 

"  It  would  have  become  you  admirably,"  says  Mignon. 

Fred  is  close  beside  her, — Raymond  has  turned  to  speak  to 
some  one  else, — and  he  whispers  in  her  ear, — 

"  I  would  rather  be  your  good  angel  and  kick  Faust  out  of 
the  house/' 

Mignon  colors,  and  Fred  turns  away  with  a  smile,  as  if  he 
had  been  saying  the  pleasantest  thing  in  the  world. 

Marguerite  takes  Faust's  arm  and  walks  through  all  the 
rooms,  leaning  confidingly  upon  him,  and  smiling  up  in  his 
face.  Raymond  is  not  acting  a  part:  the  looks  which  he 
bends  upon  Mignon  are  the  expression  of  his  feelings,  and  out- 
Faust  Faust.  The  more  delicate-minded  of  the  guests  feel 
uncomfortable,  the  others  laugh  and  shrug  their  shoulders. 

"  A  pretty  strong  order,  that !"  remarks  one  man  to  another. 

"  Why  does  not  Sir  Tristram  kick  him  out  of  the  house  ? 


MIQNON.  285 

I  would."  Thus  the  men.  Then  the  women :  "  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  so  shameless  ?  I  shall  certainly  never  come 
here  again." 

"  There  will  be  no  one  to  call  on,  I  should  think,"  is  the 
significant  reply, — "  unless  you  come  to  condole  with  Sir 
Tristram." 

"  Poor  man  !  Did  you  see  how  pale  he  turned  ?  I  pity 
him  sincerely.  She  is  good-looking,  of  course,  but  she  must 
be  a  horrid  woman." 

"  Quite  too  horrid.  I  dare  say  she  will  be  much  more  in 
her  element  when  she  has  put  herself  beyond  the  pale  of 
society." 

Olga  has  followed  Fred,  and  is  talking  gayly  to  Sir  Tristram, 
though  her  heart  is  heavy  within  her.  He  does  his  best  to 
second  her  efforts,  but  he  is  evidently  distrait,  and  his  face 
looks  haggard.  Presently  he  makes  an  excuse  and  leaves  the 
ball-room.  Fred,  who  has  been  watching  him,  follows  at  a 
distance 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"  Ever  saying  to  himself, 
'  Oh  I  that  wasted  time  to  tend  upon  her, 
To  compass  her  with  sweet  observances, 
To  dress  her  beautifully  and  keep  her  true !' 
And  then  he  broke  the  sentence  in  his  heart 
Abruptly,  as  a  man  upon  his  tongue 
May  break  it,  when  his  passion  masters  him." 

Enid. 

SIR  TRISTRAM  goes  to  his  study,  closing  the  door  behind 
him.  He  feels  as  though  a  heavy  blow  had  been  dealt  him. 
To  be  openly  disgraced  where  he  has  given  nothing  but  love 
and  kindness, — in  his  own  house,  too,  before  his  own  friends 
and  servants,  to  be  made  a  butt  for  ridicule  and  contempt. 

"  It  is  my  own  fault !"  he  groans,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
head.  "  I  should  have  stopped  it  before." 

There  is  a  sting  keener  even  than  the  shame :  he  feels  that 
to  have  done  a  thing  like  this  in  the  face  of  the  world,  Mignon 


286  MIGKON 

must  love  the  man  for  whose  sake  she  did  it.  An  exceeding 
bitterness  creeps  into  his  heart,  and  he  buries  his  face  in  his 
hands.  The  faint  strains  of  the  music,  the  sound  of  the  voices 
and  laughter,  are  borne  towards  him  :  in  the  midst  of  his  pain, 
he  remembers  that  he  is  host  in  a  house  full  of  guests,  each  one 
of  whom  has  curious  eyes  to  pry  into  his  heart,  and  quick  wit 
to  notice  if  he  suffers.  He  has  to  be  strong,  and  smile  out  the 
rest  of  this  hateful  night,  to  be  mindful  of  every  courtesy, 
every  hospitality  due  to  those  around  him.  And  he  is  to  do 
this  with  a  smiling  face,  whilst  his  heart  aches  as  it  has  never 
ached  before,  except,  perhaps,  upon  his  marriage-day. 

The  door  opens  softly,  and  Fred  comes  in.  He  walks  straight 
up  to  Sir  Tristram,  and  lays  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I  won't  make  any  apology  for  intruding,"  he  says,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  It  is  the  privilege  of  a  friend  to  come  in  when 
others  are  shut  out." 

Sir  Tristram  looks  at  him,  but  makes  no  answer.  His  face 
seems  quite  drawn  and  old. 

"  I  don't  think  this  affair  is  much  to  be  deplored,"  Fred 
continues,  quietly :  "  it  gives  you  the  very  opportunity  you 
have  been  wanting  so  long." 

"  What  opportunity?"  asks  Sir  Tristram,  absently. 

"  Why,  of  turning  that  impertinent  young  scoundrel  out  of 
the  house." 

"  Of  course  he  shall  never  set  foot  here  again,"  answers  Sir 
Tristram,  wearily ;  "  but  I  can't  make  an  esclandre  and  turn 
him  out  of  the  house  to-night.  I  can't  do  that,  if  it  is  only 
for  her  sake." 

"  For  her  sake  1"  retorts  Fred,  savagely.  "  A  good  deal  of 
consideration  I  would  show  her :  she  has  been  so  thoughtful 
about  you,  hasn't  she  ?  However,  for  your  own  sake  you  won't 
have  any  esclandre :  it  is  simple  enough  to  get  him  out  without 
that.  Send  for  him  here,  and  request  him  to  go :  he  cannot 
refuse." 

"  If  I  send  for  him,  that  will  publish  the  whole  thing  at 
once." 

"  Not  in  the  least.     I  will  make  an  excuse  to  get  him  here." 

"  So  be  it !"  answers  Sir  Tristram  ;  and  Fred  goes.  He 
does  not  make  straight  for  his  goal,  but  stops  to  laugh  and  joke 
with  various  friends  on  the  way  :  he  seems  in  the  most  radiant 
of  moods.  Presently  his  keen  eye  lights  on  the  couple  he  is 


MIGNON.  287 

in  search  of.  Marguerite  is  still  leaning  on  Faust's  arm,  but 
another  partner  is  evidently  claiming  her  reluctant  hand. 
Ultimately  she  withdraws  it  from  Faust,  who  looks  darkly  at 
his  rival. 

"  L'Estrange,  come  and  help  me,  like  a  good  fellow  !"  says 
Fred,  walking  up  with  a  beaming  face.  "  There  is  something 
wrong  with  some  of  my  petticoats,  and  I  can't  find  a  servant 
about." 

Without  being  churlish,  Raymond  cannot  well  refuae :  so  he 
sulkily  follows  Fred,  who  throws  gay  words  right  and  left  as 
they  pass  through  the  crowd.  When  they  have  traversed  the 
corridor  that  leads  to  Sir  Tristram's  study,  and  are  quite  alone, 
Fred  turns,  and,  in  a  harsh,  curt  voice,  and  with  an  expression 
of  face  strikingly  unlike  the  one  he  wore  a  minute  ago,  says, 
pointing  to  the  door, — 

"  Sir  Tristram  is  waiting  for  you  there." 

Then  he  finds  a  servant,  and  orders  Mr.  L'Estrange's  car- 
riage. 

Raymond  is  no  coward,  but  his  heart  gives  a  very  decided 
throb  as  he  finds  himself  on  the  eve  of  a  scene  that  under  no 
circumstances  can  be  a  pleasant  one.  It  is  a  horrid  sensation 
to  feel  oneself  thoroughly  in  the  wrong.  Somehow,  it  has  not 
occurred  to  him  to  think  of  Sir  Tristram  interfering :  he  has 
borne  so  much  that  the  idea  of  his  turning  now  has  seemed 
improbable.  Of  course  he  would  not  like  it ;  but  what  cared 
Raymond  for  that  ?  He  was  perfectly  aware  that  by  yielding 
to  Mignon's  wish  he  was  compromising  her  to  the  last  degree ; 
but  it  served  his  selfish  purpose  to  do  that.  He  acquitted  him- 
self of  all  dishonor  and  meanness  by  telling  himself  that  he 
meant  to  marry  her. 

As  his  hand  is  on  the  door,  he  feels  that  matters  have  come 
to  a  crisis.  In  another  moment  the  two  men  are  face  to  face. 
Sir  Tristram  is  no  longer  doubtful  or  vacillating :  his  face  wears 
an  expression  of  stern  determination :  he  looks  a  study  for 
Velasquez  in  his  rich  dark  dress.  The  scene  altogether  would 
make  an  admirable  painting, — Raymond's  handsome  face  set 
off  by  his  gay  dress,  his  figure  clearly  defined  against  the  som- 
bre, dimly-lighted  background. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me  ?"  he  asks,  in  a  voice  he  cannot  quite 
command.  To  conceal  its  tremulousness  he  is  forced  to  make 
it  defiant. 


288  MIQNON. 

"  I  did,"  Sir  Tristram  answers.  "  I  have  a  question  to  ask 
of  you." 

"  Pray  ask  it,"  returns  Raymond,  with  a  veiled  sneer. 

"  Did  you  know,"  Sir  Tristram  asks,  in  a  cold,  calm  voice, 
"  that  Lady  Bergholt  was  to  wear  the  dress  of  Marguerite  to- 
night?" 

Raymond  hesitates.  He  has  no  thought  of  telling  a  lie,  but 
the  question  embarrasses  him.  His  eyes  turn  away  from  his 
host's,  and  travel  slowly  round  the  room.  He  is  perhaps 
looking  for  inspiration ;  but  none  comes,  and  he  is  forced  to 
answer, — 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  Then,"  says  Sir  Tristram,  his  voice  trembling  a  little  from 
the  pain  and  anger  that  gnaw  his  heart, — "  then,  as  you  have 
perpetrated  a  gross  and  deliberate  insult  upon  me,  and  have 
wantonly  compromised  Lady  Bergholt  by  your  indiscretion, 
you  will  perfectly  understand  me  when  I  request  you  to  leave 
my  house  and  never  to  enter  it  again." 

Raymond  is  not  prepared  for  this.  To  be^urned  out  of  the 
house  like  a  beaten  hound,  to  have  the  tables  turned  upon  him- 
self, the  laugh  against  himself,  Sir  Tristram  victor  instead  of 
vanquished !  His  eyes  flash  with  angry  fire. 

"  I  assumed  the  dress  by  Lady  Bergholt's  express  desire," 
he  says.  "  It  was  entirely  and  solely  her  idea." 

He  is  glad  to  wound  the  man  who  is  humiliating  him. 

"  Perhaps,"  Sir  Tristram  answers,  quietly.  "  I  have  no 
more  to  say.  Since  I  have  expressed  my  wish  to  be  free  from 
your  presence,  I  presume  you  are  gentleman  enough  to  take 
the  hint  and  go." 

"  What !"  cries  Raymond,  furiously.  "  Do  you  think  I  will 
submit  to  be  kicked  out  of  the  house  like  a  dog  before  the 
whole  county  ?  If  you  are  mean  enough  to  violate  every  law 
of  hospitality,  do  not  think  I  will  tamely  brook  so  public  an 
insult.  If  I  go,  I  go  on  the  understanding  that  you  give  me 
full  and  ample  satisfaction  for  the  aifront.  You  understand 
me,  Sir  Tristram  I" 

"  Yes,"  Sir  Tristram  answers,  gravely,  "  I  understand  you 
perfectly.  But  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you  before  you  go,  Ray- 
mond. I  have  known  you  since  you  were  a  baby,  I  have 
nursed  you  upon  my  knee,  and  all  through  your  boyhood  I 
have  looked  upon  you  almost  as  a  son.  This  house  has  been 


MWNON.  289 

open  to  you  as  though  it  had  been  your  home.  Have  you 
ever  had  anything  from  me  but  kindness  ?  I  never  asked  nor 
wanted  anything  from  you  in  return,  but  I  surely  might  have 
expected  that  you  would  not  basely  creep  to  my  hearth  to  steal 
from  me  the  thing  that  is  dearest  to  me  in  life :  I  might  have 
expected  that  you  would  refrain  from  trying  to  dishonor  me, 
to  cover  me  with  the  world's  contempt  and  ridicule.  On  whose 
side  is  the  reparation  owing  ?  Satisfaction  !  by  that  you  mean, 
I  presume,  standing  up  at  twelve  paces  to  shoot  at  each  other. 
There  would  be  no  satisfaction  to  me  in  having  your  blood 
upon  my  head,  and  my  wife's  name  blazoned  with  infamy  to  the 
world.  I  think  you  know  ine  too  well  to  suspect  me  of 
cowardice.  Return  to  the  ball-room  if  you  please,  make  what 
excuse  you  choose,  but,  if  you  are  a  gentleman,  in  half  an  hour 
from  this  time  I  expect  you  to  leave  this  house,  and  not  to 
re-enter  it  until  I  ask  you  to  do  so." 

There  is  a  door  leading  from  the  study  to  his  dressing-room, 
and,  without  another  word,  he  opens  it  and  goes,  leaving  Ray- 
mond half  mad  with  wrath  and  shame.  Left  to  himself,  the 
latter  stands  biting  his  nails,  and  muttering  furious  impreca- 
tions. He  would  like  to  have  some  vent  for  his  fury,  to  make 
a  ruin  and  havoc  about  him,  or  to  burst  into  violent  rage  of 
words  against  some  one  or  something.  He  feels  he  cannot 
command  his  face  sufficiently  to  appear  in  the  ball-room  again. 
He  wants  to  get  away  quietly,  without  being  seen.  As  he 
stands  irresolute,  the  door  is  pushed  open,  and  Mr.  Conyngham 
comes  in. 

"  Your  carriage  is  at  the  door,"  he  says,  quietly. 

For  a  moment  Raymond  looks  as  if  he  would  spring  at 
Fred's  throat :  then,  with  a  tremendous  effort,  he  controls 
himself,  and  says,  with  a  sneer, — 

"  Thanks  for  your  good  offices.  I  shall  not  forget  them. 
"Will  you  say  au  revoir  to  Lady  Bergholt  for  me  ?" 

"  I  will  make  your  adieux  to  her,"  answers  Fred. 

Raymond  dashes  through  the  hall  to  his  carriage.  Fortu- 
nately, he  meets  no  one  whom  he  knows  on  the  way. 

"  Home,  and  drive  like !"  he  cries  to  his  astonished 

servant. 

He  has  only  one  thought  in  his  heart, — revenge  ! 

"  She  shall  be  mine  now,  if  I  die  for  her !"  he  says,  over 
and  over  again,  between  his  clenched  teeth. 
ir  25 


290  MIONON. 

He  forgets,  ignores,  that  he  has  been  wrong  from  first  to 
last,  that  he  has  been  treated  with  a  gentleness,  a  forbearance, 
almost  more  than  human  :  he  is  burning  with  the  rage  of 
wounded  vanity,  and  he  hates  Sir  Tristram  as  only  the  wronger 
can  hate  the  wronged. 

Fred,  having  seen  the  last  of  the  discomfited  Faust,  returns 
to  seek  his  friend. 

"  Is  he  gone  ?"  the  latter  asks. 

"  Yes,  thank  God  !  and  not  a  soul  the  wiser  except  Hoskyns. 
Now,  Tristram,  there  is  still  something  left  for  you  to  do :  the 
happiness  of  your  whole  future  may  depend  on  it." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asks  Sir  Tristram. 

"  You  must  take  a  high  hand  with  your  wife  about  this 
affair.  Unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,  she  will  treat  you 
to  a  pretty  scene  about  it ;  but  you  must  nip  her  in  the  bud. 
Tell  her  that,  in  consequence  of  her  folly,  she  has  made  her- 
self and  you  the  talk  of  the  county ;  threaten  to  take  her 
abroad,  or  to  send  her  home  to  her  parents :  in  short,  you 
must  frighten  her.  If  you  don't,  by  this  time  to-morrow, 
mark  my  words,  you  will  have  sent  L'Estrange  a  humble 
apology,  and  he  will  be  here  more  than  ever." 

"  I  do  not  think  that,"  answers  Sir  Tristram,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  Now"  (looking  at  the  clock)  "  I  must  go  and  act 
out  this  dreary  play.  It  is  nearly  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
since  I  left  the  ball-room." 

"All  right!"  says  Fred,  grasping  his  hand.  "Look  as 
bright  as  you  can.  Anyhow,  you  have  got  the  best  of  it  this 
time." 

And  so  Sir  Tristram  goes  and  plays  his  part  for  three  long 
weary  hours.  He  has  a  smile  and  a  courteous  word  for  all, 
he  forgets  nothing  that  hospitality  ami  good  breeding  dictate, 
and  people,  having  got  over  their  first  little  shock  of  surprise, 
aifect  to  ignore  what  has  happened,  and  enjoy  themselves 
amazingly.  It  is  not  long  before  Raymond's  absence  and 
Lady  Bergholt's  vexation  are  observed,  and  the  correct  con- 
clusion arrived  at  that  Raymond  has  been  kicked  out,  and  that 
it  serves  him  perfectly  right. 

Fred  treats  himself  to  a  little  piece  of  revenge.  He  ap- 
proaches Mignon,  whose  eyes  are-  seeking  Raymond  in  every 
direction,  and  says,  in  a  voice  perfectly  audible  to  those 
around, — 


MIGNON.  291 

"  I  am  charged  to  make  you  L'Estrange's  adieux." 

"  Is  he  gone?"  asks  Mignon,  horribly  mortified  to  find  her- 
self blushing  crimson. 

"Yes,"  returns  Fred,  with  his  false  air  of  bonhomie: 
"  those  good-looking  young  fellows  are  always  so  sensitive 
about  their  appearance.  He  was  dissatisfied  with  his  dress, 
thought  it  didn't  suit  him,  and  that  he  had  made  rather  a  fool 
of  himself  by  wearing  it:  so  he  is  off.  I  have  just  seen  the 
last  of  him." 

Mignon  knows  not  what  to  say.  She  is  confounded.  Oh, 
if  she  could  kill  Fred  with  the  lightnings  from  her  eyes  !  She 
turns  away,  and  says,  rather  ungraciously,  to  the  man  beside 
her, — 

"  As  Mr.  L'Estrange  is  gone,  I  can  give  you  his  waltz." 

My  lady  is  not  a  good  adept  at  dissembling,  especially  her 
anger,  and,  in  consequence,  rather  overacts  her  part,  and  seems 
too  pleased,  too  eagerly  delightful,  too  unnaturally  gracious  to 
her  guests,  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening.  She  is  burning 
to  get  Sir  Tristram  alone,  to  pour  out  the  vials  of  her  wrath 
upon  him,  to  heap  him  with  every  cruel  taunt  that  her  in- 
genious mind  can  frame  ;  for  she  surmises  well  enough  that  he, 
aided  and  abetted  by  Fred,  is  the  cause  of  Raymond's  sudden 
departure.  As  she  well  deserves,  this  night,  instead  of  being 
a  triumph,  is  one  of  bitter  mortification.  It  is  almost,  if  not 
quite,  the  most  miserable  one  of  her  life. 

At  last,  at  last,  the  final  adieux  are  made,  the  final  compli- 
ments paid  and  graciously  received,  and  Mignon  mounts  with 
hasty  steps  to  her  room.  So  hot  and  eager  is  her  wrath, 
she  will  not  wait  for  her  maid  to  unplait  her  long  hair.  As 
soon  as  her  dress  is  unfastened,  she  dismisses  her,  and,  throw- 
ing a  morning  wrapper  round  her,  goes  swiftly  towards  Sir 
Tristram's  room.  Her  cheeks  burn,  her  hands  are  icy  cold, 
there  is  a  hard  glitter  in  her  deep  eyes :  a  woful  time  seems 
in  store  for  the  hapless  husband  at  the  hands  of  this  lovely 
vixen.  She  knows  not  how  to  commence  :  there  seem  no  words 
bitter  enough  for  her  anger. 

Sir  Tristram  is  expecting  her.  He  still  wears  his  Velasquez 
dress,  and  is  leaning  against  the  chimney-piece  waiting  for  her. 
He  wants  to  spare  her :  in  spite  of  his  just  anger,  he  cannot 
shake  off  the  yearning  tenderness  that,  for  the  punishment  of 
his  sins,  he  still  feels  for  her. 


292  MIQNON. 

My  lady  enters  rapidly,  and  shuts  the  door  behind  her  with 
a  portentous  bang. 

"  I  have  come  for  an  explanation,"  she  cries.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  disgracing  me  before  eveiy  one  ?  What  do  you 
mean  by  insulting  the  best,  the  only  friend  I  have  in  the  world? 
How  dare  you " 

"  Stop  !"  thunders  Sir  Tristram. 

Surely  he  is  the  most  long-suffering  and  patient  of  men,  but 
he  is  human,  and  has  the  passions  that  animate  the  breasts  of 
other  men.  He  meant  to  be  gentle  with  her,  but,  fortunately 
for  himself,  she  has  provoked  him  beyond  endurance.  Her 
furious  looks,  her  insolent  words,  are  not  to  be  brooked. 

"  I  have  forbidden  L'Estrange  the  house:  he  never  sets  foot 
in  it  again  whilst  I  am  master  here.  If  you  are  so  shameless, 
if  you  have  no  heed  of  your  own  reputation,  I  shall  take  care 
you  do  not  disgrace  me :  I  am  not  quite  the  dupe  and  the  fool 
that  my  mistaken  tenderness  for  you  has  made  me  seem. 
Now"  (pointing  to  the  door)  "  go,  and,  for  your  own  sake,  if 
you  are  wise,  never  again  refer  to  the  events  of  to-night.  It 
will  be  difficult  enough  for  me,  as  it  is,  to  forget  them." 

Mignon  is  completely  cowed,  as  a  bully  always  is  when  he 
has  aroused  the  wrath  of  a  generous  nature :  she  bursts  into 
tears  and  creeps  quietly  back  to  her  room,  and  there,  at  the 
risk  of  spoiling  her  fine  eyes,  she  cries  and  sobs  until,  wearied 
out  at  last,  she  falls  asleep,  dressed  as  she  is,  like  an  angry 
child. 

For  the  next  few  days  she  is  rather  in  awe  of  her  husband, 
and  behaves  better  than  usual.  He  is  exceedingly  kind  to 
her,  and,  contrary  to  his  custom  of  late,  goes  out  riding  and 
driving  with  her,  now  their  guests  have  left ;  but  there  is 
something  in  his  manner  that  makes  her  feel  he  does  not  mean 
to  be  trifled  with.  More  than  once  they  have  seen  Raymond 
in  the  distance  :  it  is  evident  that  he  wants  to  waylay  Mignon, 
but  on  seeing  her  companion  he  has  always  avoided  them.  At 
first  my  lady  is  maliciously  amused  at  his  discomfiture,  but 
after  a  little  while  she  begins  to  resent  Sir  Tristram's  espionage, 
and  declines  either  to  drive  or  ride,  but  escapes  from  the  house 
when  his  back  is  turned,  and  takes  long,  solitary  walks. 

The  old  harassed  look  comes  back  to  Sir  Tristram's  face ; 
the  lines  deepen  round  his  eyes.  Where  are  the  rejuvenating 
influences  he  had  pictured  to  himself,  in  his  folly,  that  mar- 


MIGNON.  293 

riage  with  a  young  and  lovely  woman  would  exercise  upon 
him? 

"  What  is  to  be  the  end  of  it?  what  is  to  be  the  end  of  it?" 
That  is  the  thought  that  haunts  him  day  and  night  now.  "  She 
never  loved  me,  and  now  she  is  learning  to  hate  me  for  a  spy 
and  a  tyrant." 

Fortunately,  a  diversion  occurs  in  the  shape  of  an  invitation 
from  a  neighboring  magnate  to  Sir  Tristram  and  Lady  Berg- 
holt  for  a  week's  visit.  The  house  has  the  credit  of  being  an 
exceptionally  pleasant  one  to  stay  at ;  it  is  a  house,  too,  where 
the  lady  guests  affect  much  magnificence  and  variety  of  plu- 
mage, and  Mignon  is  at  once  immersed  in  the  consideration  how 
she  shall  equal,  if  not  exceed,  the  splendor  of  all  the  other 
women. 

On  the  day  of  leaving  Bergholt,  just  as  she  is  putting  on 
her  hat  to  start,  her  Abigail  demurely  presents  her  with  a 
letter. 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  my  lady,  as  Thomas  was  out  exer- 
cising this  morning,  he  met  Mr.  L'Estrange,  who  said  he  was 
to  give  this  to  me  to  give  to  you." 

Mignon  colors  ever  so  little,  and  thrusts  the  letter  into  her 
pocket. 

"  If  you  please,  my  lady,"  says  the  maid,  dropping  her  eyes 
discreetly,  "  shall  I  give  any  answer  to  Thomas  for  Mr.  L'Es- 
trange." 

"  No,"  answers  my  lady,  sharply. 

It  so  happens  that,  in  the  excitement  consequent  upon  this 
visit,  Mignon  entirely  forgets  the  letter  for  two  or  three  days, 
when  one  morning,  happening  to  wear  the  same  dress,  she 
takes  it  out  of  her  pocket  by  accident. 

I  will  not  shock  the  reader  by  a  transcription  of  Raymond's 
letter,  which,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  one  that  no  man  could 
be  justified  in  writing  to  a  married  woman. 

Mignon  reads  it,  laughs,  and  throws  it  into  the  fire.  She 
had  almost  forgotten  his  very  existence.  My  lady  is  enjoying 
herself  thoroughly,  and  has  two  or  three  fresh  and  devoted 
admirers. 

People  remark  that  Sir  Tristram  is  a  most  complaisant  and 
indulgent  husband  :  it  is  strange  that,  with  such  a  young  and 
lovely  wife,  he  should  not  seem  in  the  least  jealous  of  her. 
Poor  man  !  they  little  dream  what  an  utter  relief  it  is  to  him 

25* 


294  MIGNON. 

to  see  her  appearing  to  take  pleasure  in  the  society  of  any 
man  who  is  not  "Raymond. 

This  may  be  considered  by  some  a  very  negative  state  of 
conjugal  bliss  ;  but  it  is  sometimes  the  only  kind  that  falls  to 
the  lot  of  a  doting  husband  or  wife. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

"And  though  she  saw  all  heaven  in  flower  above, 
She  would  not  love." 

SWINBUBNE. 

AFTER  this  visit,  which  Mignon  enjoys  immensely,  she  finds 
Bergholt  grievously  dull.  To  make  matters  worse,  a  heavy 
rain  sets  in,  and  lasts  for  three  days.  My  lady,  who  has  no 
resources  in  herself,  is  at  her  wit's  end  how  to  kill  time.  She 
wishes  now  she  had  not  quarrelled  with  Kitty,  for  then  she 
would  have  gone  to  Elmor  to  spend  some  of  the  weary  hours 
that  oppress  her  so  dismally.  Her  thoughts  revert  to  Ray- 
mond, and  she  begins  to  feel  a  renewal  of  anger  against  her 
husband  for  what  she  considers  his  tyranny.  Certainly,  in. 
spite  of  Raymond's  occasional  fits  of  temper,  it  had  been  very 
pleasant  having  him  to  flatter  and  make  love  to  her,  and 
teasing  him  was  a  most  agreeable  pastime.  She  begins  to 
feel  quite  fond  of  him,  and  has  serious  thoughts  of  writing  an 
answer  to  his  long-neglected  effusion.  Matters  stand  thus 
when  Sir  Tristram  is  summoned  to  London  on  business. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to  The  Warren  for  two  or  three 
days  ?"  he  asks  his  wife.  "  Or  you  might  stay  in  town,  and 
have  one  of  your  sisters  with  you." 

"  No,  thanks,"  returns  Mignon,  imagining  Sir  Tristram 
makes  this  proposal  because  he  is  afraid  to  leave  her,  and 
determined  to  balk  him. 

u  Will  you  telegraph  for  Mary  or  Regina  to  come  here, 
then  ?  I  fear,  my  darling,  you  will  be  very  dull  all  alone." 

"  Not  duller  than  I  am  now,"  Mignon  replies. 

Sir  Tristram  winces,  but  says  no  more. 


MIGNON.  295 

"  If  the  weather  clears,  as  I  should  think  it  must  soon," 
remarks  my  lady,  "  I  shall  drive  about  and  call  on  some  of  the 
people." 

"Do  !"  answers  her  husband,  cordially.  "  There  is  a  fresh 
box  of  books,  too.  I  don't  know  whether  you  will  care  for 
any  of  them." 

"  I  don't  suppose  so.  I  don't  care  for  any  but  Miss 
Broughton's." 

Sir  Tristram  is  to  be  away  four  days,  including  those  of  his 
departure  and  return.  My  lady  has  determined  on  a  bold 
scheme.  She  will  see  Raymond  in  spite  of  her  husband's 
prohibition.  He  can  but  be  angry  if  he  finds  her  out. 

"  There  is  no  crime  in  my  seeing  him ;  and  I  shall  if  I 
like !"  argues  the  wilful  fair  one.  So,  the  day  previous  to 
Sir  Tristram's  departure,  she  indites  a  line  to  Mr.  L'Estrange, 
telling  him  that,  if  he  particularly  wishes  to  see  her,  he  may 
do  so  the  next  morning  about  eleven  in  the  little  summer- 
house  at  the  end  of  the  wood.  In  spite  of  the  pouring  rain, 
she  drives  into  the  town,  and  posts  the  letter  with  her  own 
hands. 

Sir  Tristram's  train  leaves  at  ten,  and,  when  he  has  started, 
Mignon  dons  her  hat  and  saunters  about  the  gardens  for  some 
time  in  view  of  the  house.  The  weather  has  cleared  at  last, 
and  the  morning  is  bright.  But  everything  is  unpleasantly 
wet  after  the  heavy  autumn  rains,  every  bough  and  twig 
glistens  with  drops,  the  paths  are  moist  and  sodden,  and 
altogether  it  is  a  great  deal  pleasanter  overhead  than  under 
foot. 

Mignon,  having  promenaded  for  some  time  in  view  of  the 
windows  to  avert  suspicion  should  any  one  be  watching  her, 
strikes  presently  into  a  path  that  leads  to  the  kitchen-garden 
and  out  of  it  again  by  a  roundabout  way  to  the  wood.  Long 
before  she  comes  to  the  place  of  rendezvous,  she  sees  Raymond 
watching  for  her.  He  comes  eagerly  towards  her,  catches  both 
her  hands  in  one  of  his,  and  with  the  other  makes  as  though 
to  draw  her  to  him.  But  Mignon  eludes  his  grasp,  and  says, 
with  a  little  nervous  laugh, — 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  very  glad  to  see  me ;  but  you 
need  not  be  quite  so  demonstrative." 

Raymond  is  too  happy  at  seeing  her  to  quarrel  with  her, 
but  he  feels  chilled  by  her  reception.  When  absent  from  her, 


296  MIONON. 

he  has  always  taken  it  for  granted  that  she  cares  almost  as 
much  for  him  as  he  does  for  her. 

"  And  are  you  not  glad  to  see  me?"  he  asks,  looking  at  her 
as  though,  after  his  long  abstinence  from  the  sight  of  her  lovely 
face,  he  could  never  look  enough. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  If  I  had  not  wanted  to  see  you,  T  should 
not  have  written  to  you  and  taken  the  trouble  to  go  out  in  the 
wet  to  post  the  letter  myself." 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  asks  Raymond,  curtly. 

"  He  f  Oh,  he  is  gone  to  London,  and  won't  be  back  until 
Saturday." 

"  And  he  left  you  here  alone  ?  Was  he  not  afraid  that  I 
should  come  and  carry  you  off  before  he  came  back  ?" 

"Apparently  not,"  laughs  Mignon.  "  Have  you  nearly 
done  staring  at  me?" 

"  No,  that  I  have  not,"  he  answers,  impressively.  "And  if 
you  knew  how  I  have  longed  and  hungered  for  the  sight  of 
you,  you  would  not  ask.  You  are  more  lovely  than  ever." 

"  I  cannot  return  the  compliment.  What  have  you  been 
doing  to  yourself?  You  look  quite  pinched  and  old  and 
yellow." 

"  What  have  I  been  doing  ?  I  have  been  eating  my  heart 
out.  I  have  been  going  through  the  torments  of  the  lost 
every  day  and  every  hour  since  I  saw  you." 

"How  silly!"  says  Mignon.  "As  if  any  one  was  worth 
doing  that  for !" 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  have  not  suffered  in  that  way," 
remarks  Raymond,  bitterly. 

"No,  indeed,"  answers  Mignon,  frankly.  "I  have  found 
something  better  to  eat  than  my  own  heart ;  and  I  can  always 
sleep,  thank  goodness." 

"  Why  did  you  not  answer  my  letter  ?  Would  you  not,  or 
could  you  not  ?" 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  replies  Mignon,  with  that 
utter  disregard  of  people's  feelings  that  she  has  almost  brought 
to  a  science,  "  I  put  the  letter  in  my  pocket  and  forgot  it, 

and  then,  when  we  were  at  the s',  I  never  had  a  moment 

to  spare  to  answer  it." 

Raymond  looks  at  her.  The  expression  of  his  face  is 
hardly  lover-like. 

"  Is  this  a  little  piece  of  acting  ?"  he  says  ;  "  or  am  I  the 


MIGNOb.  297 

most  infernal  fool  and  dupe  that  ever  breathed  the  breath  of 
life?" 

"  Don't  be  cross  !"  urges  Mignon,  persuasively. 

"  Cross !"  he  repeats,  laying  an  accent  of  withering  scorn 
on  the  word.  "  When  are  we  going  to  understand  each 
other  ?  When  will  you  be  woman  enough  to  lay  aside  your 
tricks  and  jests  and  show  that  you  care  for  me? — if  you  do," 
he  adds,  after  a  pause,  looking  intently  at  her. 

"  See  what  we  got  by  my  showing  that  I  cared  for  you  !" 
pouts  Mignon.  "  You  are  forbidden  the  house,  and  I  have  to 
come  out  and  meet  you  here  at  the  risk  of  I  don't  know  what 
if  I  am  found  out." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  dares  treat  you  unkindly  ?" 
cries  Raymond,  hotly. 

"  Of  course  he  does,"  answers  Mignon,  assuming  a  martyr- 
ized air.  "  I  should  like  you  to  have  seen  him  that  night  of 
the  ball  when  every  one  was  gone." 

"  Then,  dearest,"  cries  the  young  man,  passionately,  catch- 
ing at  her  hands,  "  won't  you  give  me  the  right  to  protect 
you  from  his  violence?  won't  you  trust  me  to  make  the  future 
happy  for  you, — to  atone  to  you  for  all  the  misery  of  the 
past?" 

Mignon  has  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous :  she  cannot  help 
being  very  forcibly  struck  by  the  ludicrousness  of  the  idea  of 
Raymond  protecting  her  from  her  husband's  violence.  She 
is  very  near  bursting  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  but  is  afraid  of 
offending  Raymond  irretrievably.  But  for  his  extreme  vanity, 
it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  conceive  how  he  can  enter- 
tain the  delusion  that  Mignon  really  cares  for  or  would  sacri- 
fice anything  to  him.  The  practical  evidences  of  her  indif- 
ference, of  which  she  has  been  so  unsparing,  have  all  been 
atoned  for  by  occasional  fits  of  kindness,  and  by  her  flattering 
treatment  of  him  in  public,  regardless  of  the  world's  criti- 
cisms. He  does  not  for  a  moment  realize  that  her  behavior 
has  been  the  result  of  sheer  wilfulness  and  inexperience  ;  he 
chooses  to  imagine  her  as  learned  in  the  world's  ways  as  him- 
self, and  to  argue  that  she  must  have  counted  the  cost  before 
compromising  herself  with  society.  If,  too,  he  had  not  cast 
a  wilful  glamour  before  his  eyes,  Raymond,  from  his  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  Sir  Tristram,  could  hardly  have  failed  to 
recognize  the  absurdity  of  supposing  him  capable  of  treating 

N* 


298  MIONON. 

any  woman,  far  less  the  one  he  idolized,  with  cruelty  or  vio- 
lence. But  his  own  uncurbed,  unbridled  passions  have  made 
him  ignore  or  doubt  generosity  and  power  of  self-control  in 
others.  As  for  Mignon,  she  no  more  considers  the  risk  she 
incurs  by  playing  with  fire,  than  a  person  might  do  who  amused 
himself  with  a  box  of  lucifer  matches  over  a  tub  of  cold  water, 
into  which  he  might  throw  them  at  any  moment.  And  here, 
though  I  take  no  pains  to  screen  her  heartlessness  and  utter 
inconsiderateness,  I  must  exonerate  Mignon  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  grave  impropriety.  She  is  very  young  and  really 
very  innocent,  or  I  might  express  myself  better  by  the  word 
ignorant :  she  has  not,  never  has  had,  the  least  intention  of 
allowing  Raymond  to  make  love  to  her  more  than  by  admiring 
words :  she  would  as  soon  think  of  throwing  herself  into  the 
lake  as  of  running  away  with  him :  but  she  likes  the  spice 
of  romance  that  his  devotion  to  her  casts  over  a  life  which 
threatens  to  become  monotonous. 

So,  in  answer  to  his  impassioned  words,  she  says,  repossess- 
ing herself  quietly  of  her  hands, — 

"  Oh,  he  is  not  really  so  very  terrible,  and  I  am  not  at  all  afraid 
of  him." 

"  But  even  then,"  utters  Raymond,  in  a  disappointed  voice, 
"  is  your  life  worth  having  as  it  is  ?  Can  you  go  on  wasting 
your  best  years  without  love  or  sympathy,  without  hope  or 
change  from  the  dreary  routine  of  days  spent  with  a  man  to 
whom  you  are  hopelessly  indifferent  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  might  be  worse  off,"  remarks  Mignon,  philosophi- 
cally. 

"  Your  ideas  seem  rather  of  a  negative  shade,"  says  Ray- 
mond, bitterly.  "You  can  live  without  happiness,  perhaps?" 

"  I  am  happy  enough  sometimes,"  she  answers.  "  At  all 
events,  I  am  never  imhappy ;  only  bored  sometimes.  And  last 
week  at  the s'  I  was  tremendously  happy." 

A  feeling  of  impotent  wrath  comes  over  Raymond. 

"Why  did  you  send  for* me?"  he  says,  roughly.  "You 
mean  nothing :  you  are  only  flaying  the  fool  with  me.  I  wish 
to  God  I  had  gone  a  hundred  miles  in  the  other  direction !" 

They  are  in  the  summer-house  now.  Mignon  has  thrown 
off  her  hat,  and  the  sunbeams  are  playing  hide-and-seek  in  her 
hair  through  the  narrow  window. 

He  looks  with  envious  discontent  at  her  beauty  :  his  mooda 


MIGNON.  299 

are  always  somewhat  akin  to  those  of  the  savage,  who  divides 
his  time  between  cursing  and  adoring  his  divinity. 

"  I  wonder,"  says  Mignon,  reflectively,  looking  with  perfect 
calmness  at  the  anger  in  his  handsome  face, — "  I  wonder  if 
you  could  be  with  me  ten  minutes  without  quarrelling?  Why 
can't  you  be  reasonable?" 

"  Reasonable  !"  he  echoes,  contemptuously.  "  I  wish"  (with 
angry  earnestness)  "  you  could  change  places  with  me  for  ten 
short  minutes,  and  then  perhaps  you  would  not  ask  that 
question." 

"  Thanks.  I  would  rather  be  myself.  It  must  be  very 
disagreeable  to  have  a  raging  volcano  in  one's  inside  that  is 
always  going  off  like  fireworks  when  one  least  expects  them. 
Good  heavens  !"  (in  an  accent  of  lively  agitation),  "  here  comes 
one  of  the  keepers.  What  shall  we  do?" 

"  Do  !"  says  Raymond,  in  a  low,  energetic  voice,  as  she  jumps 
up,  blushing  violently.  "  Why,  sit  still  and  keep  quiet,  of 
course!  Go  on  talking  naturally.  We  have  often  been 
here  before.  I  don't  suppose,"  (with  a  sneer)  "  that  Sir  Tris- 
tram has  offered  a  reward  for  my  head  if  I  am  caught  on 
the  premises." 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  come  !"  utters  Mignon,  crossly. 

"  I  thought  you  were  brave,"  remarks  Raymond ;  "  but  I 
suppose  you  are  so  cowed  by  this  time  that  the  merest  trifle 
daunts  your  courage." 

"Stuff!"  says  Mignon,  sharply.  "I  don't  care  a  bit  for 
any  one ;  but  I  hate  to  feel  as  if  I  were  caught  doing  some- 
thing I  ought  not.  And  of  course  he  knows  all  about  it : 
trust  servants  for  that!  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  some  of 
them  sent  him  here  to  spy.  If  I  thought  so"  (vindic- 
tively), "  I  would  turn  them  all  off  at  a  moment's  notice !" 
And  my  lady  looks  quite  capable  of  it.  "  I  tell  you  what," 
she  adds,  after  a  pause :  "  ride  boldly  up  to  the  house  to-mor- 
row, and  ask  for  me  as  you  used  to  do." 

But  Raymond's  pride  forbids  him  to  place  himself  in  so 
false  a  position.  Mignon  is  too  perturbed  for  him  to  get  any 
serious  talk  out  of  her  to-day  :  so,  after  a  time,  this  eminently 
unsatisfactory  interview  (for  him)  is  brought  to  a  close,  and, 
as  she  declines  to  meet  him  in  the  same  place  again,  it  is  ar- 
ranged that  he  shall  join  her  in  her  ride  the  following  after- 


300  MIGNON. 

noon.  So  Mignon  takes  a  smiling  leave  of  him,  but  he  goes 
moody  and  frowning  homewards. 

An  uncomfortable  doubt  has  begun  to  take  possession  of  his 
mind, — not  whether  the  game  is  worth  the  candle,  but  whether 
the  candle  will  ever  see  the  game  played  out.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  find  her  softened,  more  tender,  less  brusque  and  wil- 
ful, but  she  is  the  same  Mignon  as  ever;  she  even  seems  to 
have  slipped  further  from  his  grasp. 

The  next  day,  however,  my  lady  is  all  smiles  and  pleasant 
words.  She  feels  a  good  deal  more  secure  on  horseback  with 
her  servant  in  attendance  than  she  did  in  the  wood,  and  in- 
dulges herself  in  a  thorough  flirtation,  fearless  of  Raymond 
taking  any  undue  advantage  of  her  complaisance. 

The  morning  after,  she  receives  a  letter  from  her  husband  : 

11  MY  DARLING, — 

"  I  arrived  here  last  night — I  cannot  say,  with  perfect  truth, 
in  safety,  for  in  jumping  from  the  carriage,  most  foolishly  be- 
fore it  had  quite  stopped,  I  slipped  and  sprained  my  ankle. 
However,  don't  be  the  least  alarmed :  the  accident  is  not  at  all 
serious,  though  a  little  painful,  and  the  most  inconvenient  part 
of  it  is  that  it  will  detain  me  here  longer  than  I  intended. 
Now,  don't  you  think,  dearest,  that  a  week's  solitude  will  bore 
you  a  good  deal  ?  I  know  your  gregarious  nature.  I  do  not 
for  an  instant  want  you  to  come  up  on  my  account,  or  unless 
it  would  really  amuse  you  ;  but  the  moment  you  feel  dull,  tele- 
graph, and  I  will  secure  comfortable  rooms  for  you  and  send 
for  one  of  your  sisters.  You  might  like  to  do  some  shopping 
and  go  to  the  theatres.  I  only  propose  this  for  your  sake :  don't 

dream  of  coming  for  mine.     P is  attending  me,  and  Fred 

is  here.     With  best  love,  my  darling, 

"  Your  most  affectionate  husband, 

"  TRISTRAM  BERGHOLT." 

To  do  Mignon  justice,  she  is  exceedingly  sorry  about  Sir 
Tristram's  accident ;  she  has  even  a  momentary  thought  of  going 
to  London  to  nurse  him ;  but,  after  mature  deliberation,  she 
comes  to  the  conclusion  that  as  his  hurt  is  not  serious,  and  she  is 
really  likely  to  be  better  amused  at  home,  she  will  not  go,  at  all 
events  not  at  present.  She  is  seized  with  a  brilliant  idea,  upon 
which  she  acts  when  she  meets  Raymond  the  same  afteroon. 


MIGNON.  301 

"  Does  your  mother  know  anything  about  your  quarrel  with 
Sir  Tristram  ?"  she  asks. 

"  Not  a  syllable.  I  should  never  have  heard  the  last  of  it. 
Why?" 

"  Because  I  have  been  thinking,"  proceeds  Mignon,  gayly, 
"  that  though  you  are  forbidden  my  house,  I  am  not  forbidden 
yours,  and  as  I  am  quite  alone"  (laughing),  "  your  mother 
might  think  it  only  kind  and  neighborly  to  ask  me  over  to 
spend  the  day." 

Raymond's  face  lights  up  with  pleasure. 

"  By  Jove !  what  a  fool  I  was  not  to  think  of  it  myself ! 
When  will  you  come? — to-morrow?  She  will  be  only  too 
delighted." 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  wait  for  an  invitation,"  suggests 
Mignon. 

"  I  will  ride  over  and  bring  it  the  first  thing  to-morrow 
morning,"  cries  Raymond,  eagerly. 

"  You  forget,"  says  Mignon,  maliciously,  "that  you  are  for- 
bidden the  house." 

He  frowns. 

"  I  had  forgotten  it :  thanks  for  reminding  me.  I  will  send 
a  servant." 

"  All  right :  do !"  answers  Mignon.  "  No  one  can  make 
any  remark  as  long  as  I  am  with  your  mother." 

"  Are  you  beginning  to  be  afraid  of  what  people  say  ?"  asks 
Raymond. 

"  No,  not  afraid.  But  I  would  just  as  soon  not  give  them 
a  chance.  And  I  will  tell  you  how  you  shall  amuse  me.  I 
want  to  learn  to  jump.  You  must  teach  me.  Have  a  bar  or 
hurdles  put  up  in  a  field,  and  put  me  on  one  of  your  hunters. 
I  mean  to  hunt  this  winter  though  Tristram  shakes  his  head, 
and  next  year,"  she  adds,  triumphantly,  "  I  mean  to  cut  out 
Kitty  and  Mrs.  Stratheden  in  the  Row." 

The  following  morning,  a  servant  brings  a  kind  little  note 
from  Mrs.  L'Estrange  begging  Lady  Bergholt  to  come  over  and 
spend  a  long  day  with  her,  and  apologizing  for  her  long  neg- 
lect. Mignon  is  bent  on  ingratiating  herself  with  Raymond's 
mother,  and  behaves  with  unusual  gentleness  and  discretion. 

She  expatiates  much  on  her  dulness  at  Bergholt  now  her 
husband  is  away,  and  kind  Mrs.  L'Estrange  presses  her  warmly 
to  repeat  her  visit  whenever  she  feels  inclined. 

26 


302  MIGNON. 

Raymond  excels  as  a  host :  nothing  can  be  more  charming 
than  his  solicitude  for  the  bien-etre  of  his  fair  guest.  Mignon 
feels  that  she  has  never  liked  him  so  much  before.  The  leap- 
ing lessons  are  a  great  success :  Lady  Bergholt  has  an  excellent 
,seut,  and  is  perfectly  fearless.  The  jumping  practice  is  con- 
tinued in  their  rides  on  the  days  which  Mignon  does  not  spend 
at  The  Hall.  On  the  whole,  she  thoroughly  enjoys  her  hus- 
band's absence,  though  there  is  a  reverse  to  this  as  to  most- 
pictures.  One  day  she  drives  to  call  upon  Lady  Blankshire, 
and  is  received  with  freezing  politeness ;  another  day,  when 
riding  with  Raymond,  she  meets  the  barouche  of  another 
magnate,  who  makes  but  the  slightest  return  to  her  somewhat 
effusive  greeting  ;  on  another  occasion  she  passes  Kitty,  who 
turns  her  head  in  the  opposite  direction.  My  lady's  vanity  is 
wounded,  but  she  still  thinks  herself  strong  enough  to  defy 
public  opinion. 

"  This  is  all  on  your  account,  I  suppose !"  she  says  to  Ray- 
mond, with  an  angry  sparkle  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"  My  darling,"  he  replies,  tenderly,  "  it  hurts  me  awfully  to 
think  you  should  have  to  bear  anything  for  my  sake." 

"lam  not  your  darling,"  she  retorts;  "and  if  I  find  I 
cannot  hold  my  own,  I  shall  appease  society  by  cutting  you." 

For  a  wonder,  Raymond  does  not  make  an  angry  answer. 
He  has  been  strangly  patient  of  late :  either  he  is  tired  of  en- 
deavoring to  file  down  the  rough  edges  of  Jier  temper,  or  he 
is  trying  fresh  tactics. 

It  is  three  weeks  before  Sir  Tristram  is  able  to  return  to 
Bergholt,  and  when  he  comes  he  looks  very  thin  and  pulled- 
down.  Mignon  has  a  slight  qualm  of  remorse. 

"  You  have  been  worse  than  you  told  me,"  she  says,  kissing 
him  quite  affectionately.  "  Why  did  you  not  send  for  me  to 
nurse  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  nursing  is  your  vocation,  my  darling,"  he 
answers,  drawing  her  on  his  knee,  a  familiarity  which  she,  for 
a  wonder,  permits.  He  looks  at  her  with  fixed  eyes :  if  pos- 
sible, he  feels  he  loves  her  more  devotedly  than  before. 

"  You  are  lovelier  than  ever,"  he  cannot  resist  saying. 

"  Suppose,  now,"  she  says,  turning  suddenly  serious,  and 
thinking  of  words  once  spoken  by  Raymond,  "that  I  were 
smashed  in  a  train,  or  had  the  smallpox :  would  you  still  be 
as  fond  of  me  ?" 


MIGNON.  303 

He  puts  his  hand  before  her  mouth. 

"  Hush  !"  he  says.     "  Don't  speak  of  such  a  thing." 

"  But  should  you?"  she  persists. 

"  Yes,"  he  answers,  "  I  hope  so ;  I  think  so.  By  the  way, 
have  you  heard  that  your  people  are  talking  of  a  trip  to  Italy 
this  winter  ?" 

"  Regina  wrote  something  about  it.  Are  they  really  serious  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  believe  they  start  in  a  fortnight.  Mary  came  up 
to  see  me  nearly  every  day :  you  cannot  think  how  good  she 
was.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  her." 

"  Ah,"  laughs  Mignon,  "  you  ought  to  have  married  her, 
as  I  told  you." 

"  Ought  I  ?"  he  answers,  tenderly.     "  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Tristram,"  says  my  lady,  suddenly,  "  I  have  something  to 
tell  you.  Will  you  promise  me  not  to  be  angry  ?" 

A  misgiving  that  has  tormented  him  these  three  weeks  grows 
in  breadth  and  depth. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  asks,  with  involuntary  coldness. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  tell  you,"  she  says,  laying  her  blonde 
head  against  his  dark  one.  "  I  don't  like  the  tone  of  your 
voice." 

There  is  a  pause. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  you  could  do  that  would  vex  me 
very  much,"  utters  Sir  Tristram,  in  a  voice  he  cannot  quite 
command ;  "  and  I  hardly  think  you  would  willingly  give  me 
so  much  pain." 

"  And  what  is  that?"  she  asks,  half  coaxing,  half  defiant. 

"  To  have  had  L'Estrange  here,  or  to  have  met  him  else- 
where." 

"  Of  course  I  have  not  had  him  here.  As  if  I  should, 
after  all  the  fuss  you  made !" 

Sir  Tristram  experiences  a  sense  of  relief. 

"  But,"  says  Mignon,  and  the  misgiving  returns. 

"But  what,  my  dear?" 

"  But  I  had  a  note,  a  most  kind  note,  from  Mrs.  L'Estrange, 
asking  me  to  spend  the  day ;  and  I  thought  you  did  not 
want  her  to  know  there  had  been  anything  disagreeable :  so  I 
went." 

There  is  silence.  Presently  Sir  Tristram  says,  in  a  voice 
the  calmness  of  which  is  hardly  natural, — 

"  Did  you  go  only  once,  or  more  than  once?" 


304  MIGNON. 

"  I  went  twice,"  answers  Mignon,  afraid  to  reveal  that  she 
has  been  double  that  number  of  times. 

"And,"  continues  her  husband,  still  in  the  same  tone,  "  did 
you  see — Raymond — upon  any  other  occasion?" 

"  I  met  him  out  riding?" 

"  More  than  once  ?" 

"  Oh,  really,  I  am  not  going  to  be  cross-questioned  as  if  I 
were  in  a  witness-box,"  cries  Mignon,  pettishly,  jumping  up. 
"  I  met  him, — that  is  enough ;  and  I  was  an  idiot  to  tell  you. 
It  is  much  better  to  be  sly  than  straightforward.  I  shall  act 
upon  that  next  time.  And  if  you  only  married  me  for  the 
pleasure  of  bullying  and  tyrannizing  over  me,"  adds  my  lady,' 
with  a  voice  ever  crescendo,  "  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  you !  It 
was  all  papa's  doing,  and  it  was  a  great  shame  of  you  both." 
And  Mignon,  having  sent  the  poisoned  shaft  well  home,  takes 
flight,  and  leaves  the  man  who  loves  her  in  speechless  pain. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"  But  there,  where  I  had  garnered  up  my  heart, 
Where  either  I  must  live  or  bear  no  life; 
The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs, 
Or  else  dries  up  j  to  be  discarded  thence  \" 

Othello. 

SIR  TRISTRAM'S  ankle  is  a  long  time  getting  well.  It  is  a 
considerable  trial  to  him  to  forego  hunting,  to  which,  after 
several  winters  spent  out  of  England,  he  has  looked  forward 
keenly.  Mignon  has  been  extremely  anxious  to  ride  to  the 
meets,  but  her  husband  has  always  refused  his  consent. 

"  I  will  drive  there  with  you  as  often  as  you  like,"  he  says, 
"  but  I  cannot  ride,  and  I  do  not  think  it  would  look  well  for 
you  to  be  seen  there  with  only  your  groom." 

Mignon  is  exceedingly  put  out  about  this  new  piece  of 
tyranny,  as  she  considers  it,  and,  as  she  cannot  go  as  she  likes, 
pettishly  refuses  to  go  at  all. 

December  has  come.  They  have  had  a  party  in  the  house 
for  pheasant-shooting,  and  paid  a  couple  of  visits.  Gerry  has 


MIGNON.  305 

spent  a  few  days  with  them :  the  rest  of  the  Carlyle  family  are 
wintering  abroad. 

Mignon  has  amused  herself  tolerably  well,  but  Raymond's 
patience  is  wellnigh  worn  out.  He  sees  her  occasionally,  for, 
in  spite  of  her  husband's  displeasure,  she  continues  to  meet 
him  now  and  then  by  appointment,  and  he  writes  to  her  fre- 
quently. Sir  Tristram  exercises  no  surveillance  over  the  post- 
bag,  and  my  lady's  letters  are  invariably  brought  to  her  by  her 
maid  whilst  she  is  dressing.  Raymond's  letters  amuse  her : 
there  is  a  pleasant  spice  of  danger  in  this  correspondence, — a 
feeling  of  doing  something  she  ought  not ;  though,  as  far  as 
her  own  letters  go,  there  is  nothing  in  them  that  might  not  be 
proclaimed  by  the  town  crier. 

Raymond  is  growing  ill,  wretched,  desperate:  people  are 
beginning  to  comment,  too,  upon  his  changed  appearance :  he 
feels  himself  no  nearer  his  love  and  his  vengeance  than  he  was 
six  months  ago.  He  can  no  longer  deceive  himself  with  the 
idea  that  Mignon  really  cares  for  him,  but  his  passion  is  rather 
increased  than  decreased  by  her  indifference.  Sometimes  he 
vows  to  go  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  to  get  away 
from  her,  and  then  the  sight  of  her  golden  hair,  her  dark-blue 
eyes,  and  her  lovely,  laughing  mouth,  witch  him  back,  and  he 
finds  it  impossible  to  tear  himself  away.  He  is  reaping  the 
punishment  of  his  uncurbed  passions.  Sir  Tristram  is  hardly 
to  be  envied,  but  his  life  is  positive  bliss  compared  with  Ray- 
mond's. 

For  some  days,  Mignon  has  been  preparing  for  an  act  of 
rebellion.  There  is  to  be  a  meet  four  miles  distant, — in  fact, 
not  far  from  L'Estrange  Hall, — and  she  has  made  up  her  mind 
to  ride  there. 

"  Look  out  for  me,"  she  says  to  Raymond.  "  I  shall  be 
there,  and,  what  is  more,  I  mean  to  follow." 

"  You  won't,"  answers  Raymond,  moodily :  "  he  will  not  let 
you." 

"  You  will  see,"  says  Mignon,  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  Mind 
you  are  there  before  me." 

And  that  night,  at  dinner,  my  lady  says,  with  an  innocent 
face,  to  her  lord, — 

"  I  am  going  to  ride  to  the  meet  on  Wednesday." 

The  servants  are  in  the  room.  Sir  Tristram  only  smiles, 
and  says,  "  Are  you,  my  dear?" 

26* 


306  MIONON. 

"  Yes,"  she  replies,  firmly,  though  she  feels  a  little  nervous: 
"  so,  when  you  see  me  start,  don't  say  I  did  not  give  you  fair 
warning." 

Sir  Tristram  makes  no  answer ;  but  when  they  are  alone  he 


"  My  darling,  I  hope  you  were  only  in  jest  when  you  spoke 
of  riding  to  the  meet.  You  know,  I  think,  that  I  give  way 
to  you  in  almost  everything :  but  I  have  a  very  great  objection 
to  this,  and  I  trust  you  will  not  vex  me  by  pressing  it  further." 

My  lady  has  arranged  in  her  own  mind  exactly  what  she 
will  say  if  her  lord  proves  contumacious,  and  she  now  proceeds 
to  say  it  without  the  least  pity  or  compunction.  Her  cheeks 
glow  with  a  soft  carmine,  there  is  unmistakable  fire  in  her  eyes, 
and  no  one  looking  at  her  could  doubt  for  a  moment  that  she 
is  quite  in  earnest.  She  has  not  yet  learned  to  command  her 
voice,  which  is  always  several  tones  higher  when  she  is  dis- 
pleased. 

"  Before.  I  married  you,"  she  says,  "  you  promised  that  I 
should  do  everything  I  liked.  Now  you  try  to  tyrannize  over 
me  in  every  possible  way;  and  I  won't  bear  it.  I  wont  bear 
it"  (crescendo).  "  And  if  you  don't  let  me  go  on  Wednesday, 
I  will  leave  you  and  go  straight  off  to  my  own  people,  if  I 
have  to  beg  my  way  to  them." 

The  expression  of  Lady  Bergholt's  face  and  the  accent  of 
her  voice  bespeak  such  thorough  determination  that  Sir  Tris- 
tram is  utterly  stupefied.  And  the  reader  will,  I  have  no 
doubt,  be  out  of  all  patience  with  him  when  I  chronicle  the 
fact  that  he  offers  no  further  opposition  to  her  going. 

But  he  loves  her:  he  would  do  anything  in  the  world 
rather  than  separate  himself  from  her,  and  he  believes  her 
capable  of  carrying  out  her  threat.  After  all,  he  is  not  the 
only  weak  and  foolishly  fond  husband  on  record.  All  he  does 
is  this.  He  sends  for  the  head  groom  on  Tuesday  evening, 
and  tells  him  that  Lady  Bergholt  will  ride  to  the  meet  next 
morning,  and  bids  him  keep  close  beside  her,  in  case  her  horse 
should  get  excited  and  troublesome. 

"  And  remember,"  he  adds,  in  an  accent  of  unmistakable 
authority,  "  I  do  not  suppose  for  an  instant  that  Lady  Berg- 
holt  will  wish  to  follow,  but,  in  case  she  should,  you  will  say 
you  have  my  positive  commands  not  to  do  so." 

He  is  horribly  anxious  lest  some  evil  should  befall  his 


MIGNON.  307 

darling,  whom  you  and  I,  reader,  do  not  think  such  a  very 
great  treasure. 

Mignon  is  radiant  as  she  mounts  her  horse  next  morning. 
When  the  weaker  vessel  does  get  her  own  way  by  the  strong 
hand,  she  is  always  very  proud  of  it ;  and  my  lady  is  no 
exception. 

"  You  will  not  think  of  following,"  are  Sir  Tristram's  parting 
words ;  but  she  makes  a  defiant  little  moue  in  answer,  that 
causes  his  heart  to  throb  with  a  painful  misgiving. 

"  Remember  !"  he  says  to  the  groom,  as  she  rides  off",  in  a 
tone  as  impressive  as  that  in  which  King  Charles  the  Martyr 
made  his  memorable  utterance. 

"  Yes,  Sir  Tristram,"  answers  the  man,  with  stolid  gravity, 
as  he  touches  his  hat.  But  to  himself  he  says,  "  How  the 
plague  does  he  think  I'm  agoing  to  stop  her,  if  he  can't  ?" 

"  You  see,"  cries  Mignon,  triumphantly,  to  Raymond,  as 
she  canters  up.  "  I  told  you  I  would  come,  and  here  I  am. 
And  now,"  she  adds,  gayly,  "  I  mean  to  enjoy  myself 
thoroughly." 

Several  men  come  forward  to  greet  her,  and  ask  if  she  is 
going  to  follow ;  and  she  answers,  laughing,  "  Yes,  and  I  mean 
to  have  the  brush." 

"  So  you  shall,"  answers  the  Master,  cordially,  with  a  glance 
of  genuine  admiration  at  her  lovely  face,  "  if  the  other  fair 
Amazons  cut  me  dead  for  it." 

"  I  thought  so,"  remarks  the  groom  to  himself.  "  I  might 
as  well  try  to  stop  her  as  the  beck  in  a  flood.  Well,  I  can 
but  lose  my  place.  She's  master  of  him,  so  she's  like  to  be 
master  o'  me."  And  he  sits  down  philosophically  in  his  sad- 
dle, not  altogether  displeased  with  the  idea  of  a  run.  "  For 
of  course,"  he  reflects,  "  if  she  do  go  I  am  bound  to  foller." 

Seeing  Raymond  in  attendance,  no  one  ventures  to  offer 
Lady  Bergholt  a  lead :  indeed,  he  is  probably  the  only  man 
who  does  not  consider  the  office  a  bore.  A  man  must  be  very 
much  in  love  to  like  to  give  a  woman  a  lead,  particularly  in 
her  first  experiment  across  country.  Raymond  has  no  inten- 
tion of  letting  his  fair  charge  incur  any  danger,  and,  as  he 
knows  there  is  no  enjoyment  for  himself  in  the  way  of  sport 
to  be  got  out  of  to-day's  run,  he  thinks  more  about  the  chances 
of  a  long,  pleasant  ride  back  along  the  lanes,  where  there  is 
more  scope  for  conversation  than  in  the  hunting-field.  The 


308  MIGNON. 

hounds  are  not  long  finding :  the  business  of  the  day  is  about 
to  commence.  Jackson  rides  up  to  his  mistress  and  salutes 
her  respectfully. 

"  Beg  pardon,  my  lady — Sir  Tristram  gave  me  most  positive 
orders  as  you  was  not  to  follow."  He  has  placed  his  horse 
right  in  front  of  her. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way  !  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cries  Mignon, 
imperiously ;  and  Jackson  has  no  alternative  but  to  fall  back 
and  follow. 

"  Don't  lose  your  head,  don't  pull  your  horse  at  a  fence,  and 
keep  close  to  me,"  says  Raymond,  as  they  break  into  a  gallop. 

It  is  very  easy  going  at  first,  and  Raymond  knows  every 
inch  of  the  country :  so  that  Mignon  is  in  an  ecstasy  of  de- 
light and  enjoyment.  It  is  a  short  run, — under  three  miles, 
and  she  is  actually  in  at  the  death.  The  Master  brings  her 
the  brush. 

"  And  well  earned  too,  by  Jove  !"  he  says,  gallantly,  as  he 
presents  it. 

Mignon  is  radiant  with  delight  and  excitement.  She  has 
never  looked  more  lovely.  Raymond  is  full  of  pride  and 
triumph  as  he  sees  the  glances  men  cast  upon  her. 

Presently  another  fox  is  found  in  a  wood  belonging  to  Mrs. 
Stratheden,  and  they  are  off  again.  Raymond  is  beginning 
to  feel  more  confidence  in  Mignon's  riding,  and  leads  the  way 
over  rather  a  bigger  fence.  Her  horse  takes  it  perfectly,  and 
away  they  sail  again.  They  are  somewhat  separated  from  the 
rest  of  the  field.  Raymond  has  formed  his  own  opinion  as  to 
the  line  of  country  the  fox  means  to  take,  and  is  bent  on  a 
short  cut. 

The  next  fence  is  a  very  easy  one  :  he  scarcely  stops  to  look 
behind  until  he  hears  a  loud  cry  from  the  groom.  With  diffi- 
culty he  reins  in  his  excited  horse  and  turns.  Never,  never, 
if  he  lives  to  the  longest  span  that  is  allotted  to  man,  will  he 
forget  the  horror  of  that  time.  Lady  Bergholt  and  her  horse 
are  both  struggling  on  the  ground,  and  as  he  turns  he  sees  the 
chestnut  strike  out  twice  in  its  endeavor  to  rise,  he  hears  the 
dull  thud  of  the  blow  against  the  human  flesh,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment that  exquisite  face,  the  delight  of  every  one  who  gazed 
upon  it,  is  turned  into  a  sight  appalling  enough  to  sicken  the 
strongest  man.  Raymond  is  off  his  horse  in  a  second :  it  gal- 
lops away  after  that  other  riderless  one.  The  groom,  too,  has 


MIGNON.  309 

dismounted,  and  holds  his  horse's  bridle,  whilst  he  looks  with 
blanched  face  from  Raymond  to  the  horrid  spectacle  at  their 
feet.  Raymond  is  no  coward,  but  he  has  highly-strung  nerves: 
he  has  almost  a  woman's  shrinking  from  painful  sights.  And 
now  the  woman  he  has  loved, — for  his  love  is  all  gone  and 
buried  in  horror  now, — the  woman  whom  he  has  tempted  to 
rebel  against  her  husband,  is  lying  mangled  before  him,  and 
he  feels  that  her  blood  is  on  his  head.  Is  she  dead  ?  For 
one  wild  moment  he  almost  prays  she  is :  it  seems  a  less  awful 
fate  than  to  live  changed  from  one  of  God's  loveliest  creatures 
to  a  spectacle  that  will  make  men  shudder  :  he  would  fain  fly 
from  the  sight  himself,  would  fain  ride  away  for  help  and  leave 
the  groom  by  her  side,  but  every  spark  of  manliness  cries  out 
against  it.  And  so,  for  his  heavy  doom  and  punishment,  he 
kneels  down  and  takes  into  his  arms  this  form  whose  face  is 
crushed  out  of  knowledge  and  hidden  by  blood,  and  there, 
with  his  ghastly  burden,  he  stays  what  seems  to  him  an  eter- 
nity, whilst  the  groom  gallops  away  for  help.  She  is  not  dead : 
she  begins  to  writhe  in  his  arms ;  she  even  puts  up  a  hand  to 
tear  at  her  wounds  ;  he  has  to  hold  it  by  main  force.  He  feels 
as  though  his  reason  would  leave  him,  the  horror  is  so  intense, 
and  all  the  time  his  stricken  conscience  is  crying  aloud  to  him, 
"  This  is  God's  judgment  upon  you  !" 

It  is  not  in  reality  ten  minutes,  though  it  seems  a  century 
to  Raymond,  before  there  comes  the  sound  of  voices  and  of 
hurrying  feet.  They  place  her  on  a  rudely-constructed  litter, 
and  he  has  to  walk  by  the  side,  still  holding  her  hand  as  she 
groans  and  writhes,  unconscious  though  she  is  of  any  word 
spoken  to  her.  And  when  they  reach  the  door  of  the  little  village 
inn,  the  host  says  to  him,  "  I'm  afraid  we  can't  get  her  up  the 
stairs,  poor  lady,  unless  you  carry  her  in  your  arms,  sir."  And 
again,  white  and  shuddering,  Raymond  must  take  up  this  ter- 
rible freight,  that,  half  an  hour  ago,  would  have  been  so  dainty 
a  burden,  and  carry  it  to  the  bedroom  on  the  first  floor.  Then 
he  makes  as  if  to  leave  the  room. 

"Oh,  please,  sir,  won't  you  stop  till  the  doctor  comes?" 
cries  the  affrighted  landlady  :  "  I  durstn't  stop  with  the  poor 
soul  alone."  And  mechanically  Raymond  sits  down  in  a  chair 
and  goes  through  another  century  of  agony.  A  thought 
comes  to  him  :  he  will  send  for  Olga :  she  is  always  the  one 
to  turn  to  for  help  and  sympathy.  So  he  curtly  bids  the 


310  MIGNON. 

landlady  send  some  one  to  tell  Mrs.  Stratheden  what  has 
happened :  he  knows  she  will  lose  no  time  in  coming.  At 
last  the  doctor  arrives. 

"  You  had  best  not  stop  here,"  he  says,  gently;  "  and  the 
groom  is  waiting  to  see  you." 

No  sentence  of  reprieve  to  a  doomed  man  could  be  more 
joyful  than  these  words  to  Raymond.  He  staggers  out  of  the 
room,  and  down-stairs,  where  a  crowd  is  gathered.  The  groom 
separates  himself  from  it  and  comes  out. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  he  says,  "  won't  you  go  and  break  the 
news  to  my  master?" 

Raymond  reels  as  if  he  had  been  struck. 

"  I !"  he  says.     "  JVo.     I  cannot.     You  must  go." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  but  I  won't,"  says  the  man. 
resolutely.  u  He  gave  me  positive  orders  not  to  go ;  and  it 
wasn't  my  fault,  but  I  can't  face  him." 

"  Get  my  horse,"  mutters  Raymond,  and,  sick  and  white, 
he  mounts  and  rides  away  in  the  direction  of  Bergholt.  And 
still  the  words  are  ringing  in  his  ears,  "  This  is  God's  judg- 
ment upon  you."  He  rides  like  the  wild  huntsman  ;  he  is 
ghastly  white  and  covered  with  blood ;  the  few  people  who 
meet  him  stand  aside,  scared.  He  does  not  draw  rein  till  he 
comes  to  the  avenue,  and  there,  standing  on  the  steps,  evidently 
on  the  lookout  for  some  one,  stands  Sir  Tristram. 

As  Raymond  rides  up,  blood-stained  and  looking  like  death, 
the  first  thing  that  occurs  to  Sir  Tristram  is  that  he  has  had 
a  bad  fall  and  has  come  for  assistance.  He  forgets  his  anger 
and  animosity,  and  cries,  in  kind,  anxious  tones, — 

"  You  are  hurt,  my  boy.  Where  is  it.  What  can  we  do 
for  you  ?" 

Raymond  reels  out  of  the  saddle  and  stands  staring  and 
stammering :  his  tongue  cleaves  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 
Two  servants  run  out. 

"Take  Mr.  L'Estrange's  horse.  Get  some  brandy,"  Sir 
Tristram  cries  to  them.  "  Here,  my  boy,  lean  on  me !"  But 
Raymond  waves  him  off  and  falls  staggering  against  the  door. 

"  It  is  not  me,"  he  gasps.  "  Lady  Bergholt — White  Hart 
Inn — Allington."  And  then  he  swoons  dead  away,  and  is 
for  the  time  relieved  of  his  intolerable  agony. 

Sir  Tristram  stands  for  a  moment  as  though  a  blow  had  been 
dealt  him.  "  The  dog-cart,"  he  8ays,  in  a  trembling  voice;  and 


MIGNON.  311 

one  servant  flies  to  the  stables,  whilst  another  leads  off  Ray- 
mond's horse,  and  a  third  tries  to  pour  brandy  down  his 
throat.  In  an  incredibly  short  time  the  dog-cart  is  round,  and 
Sir  Tristram  in  it :  he  has  to  take  that  fearful  drive  in  utter 
uncertainty,  conjecturing  the  worst  from  Raymond's  horror- 
stricken  face,  from  his  terrible  agitation  and  the  marks  of 
blood  upon  him,  for  he  is  still  insensible.  The  White  Hart 
is  six  miles  distant:  they  do  it  in  half  an  hour,  but  to  Sir 
Tristram  it  seems  half  an  eternity.  Will  his  darling  be  dead  ? 
Oh,  pray  God  not !  he  can  bear  anything,  he  thinks,  if  only 
her  life  be  spared.  Little  knots  of  twos  and  threes  are  stand- 
ing near  the  inn  door :  they  slink  away  as  he  drives  up,  and 
he  augurs  the  worst.  In  the  passage,  Olga  meets  him,  and 
draws  him  towards  the  little  parlor. 

"  She  is  not  dead,"  she  whispers,  hurriedly,  anticipating 
him.  "  Mr.  Thorp  does  not  think  she  will  die.  I  have 
telegraphed  for  P ,  and  also  to  Leeds  for  Dr. ." 

"  Let  me  go  to  her,"  murmurs  Sir  Tristram,  hoarsely.  "  Is 
she  conscious  ?" 

"No.  Wait  a  moment!"  And  Olga  plucks  him  by  the 
sleeve,  yet  hesitates,  as  if  there  is  something  she  cannot  make 
up  her  mind  to  say. 

"  What  is  it?"  he  says,  looking  into  her  eyes  with  a  stead- 
fast gaze,  though  his  lips  quiver. 

"  Try  and  bear  it,"  she  whispers,  taking  his  hand,  while  the 
tears  gather  in  her  eyes.  "  If — if  she  lives,  we  fear  she  will  be 
disfigured.  The  horse  kicked  her  in  the  face." 

"  Is  that  all?"  he  cries,  almost  joyfully.  "  Oh,  if  God  is  only 
pleased  to  spare  her  to  me,  I  can  bear  anything  else !" 

Olga  precedes  him  softly  up  the  stairs,  and  when  she  has 
opened  the  door  and  has  seen  the  doctor  come  towards  him, 
she  creeps  away  again  down-stairs  into  the  little  parlor,  and 
there  she  sobs  her  heart  out  for  pity  of  the  lost  beauty  of  the 
woman  who  hated  her,  as  she  might  have  wept  if  it  had  been 
her  own  sister. 


•Uli  MIGXOX. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

"  '  Sir,'  said  he,  '  if  you  had  seen  the  miseries  of  the  world,  you  would 
know  how  to  value  your  present  state.' 

"'Now,'  said  the  Prince,  'you  have  given  me  something  to  desire;  I 
shall  long  to  see  the  miseries  of  the  world,  since  the  sight  of  them  is 
necessary  to  happiness.' " 

Itasselas. 

ON  the  June  night  when  Leo  urged  Raymond  to  fight 
against  his  passion  for  Mignon,  and  to  go  abroad  with  him,  he 
made  his  own  resolve  not  to  delay  his  journey  longer.  Why 
should  he  stop  to  suffer  fresh  pangs  ?  why  should  he  witness 
Lord  Harley's  triumph,  when  it  was  breaking  his  own  heart  ? 
Almost  immediately  after  parting  from  Raymond,  he  ran  against 
another  friend :  a  small,  fair,  delicate-looking  lad  he  seemed, 
though  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  two  years  Leo's  senior,  and 
a  captain  in  her  Majesty's  Foot  Guards, — Captain  the  Honor- 
able Hercules  Clyde,  better  known  to  his  friends  and  intimates 
by  the  name  of  The  Pigmy. 

"  Halloo,  Leo  !  where  are  you  off  to  like  an  avalanche?"  is 
his  greeting  to  Leo,  who  has  nearly  run  over  him.  "  Please  to 
remember  that  the  parish  of  St.  James's  didn't  lay  down  the 
pavement  entirely  with  a  view  to  your  convenience,  and  that 
the  smallest  and  humblest  of  her  Majesty's  lieges  is  entitled 
to  a  portion  of  it." 

"  How  are  you,  Pigmy  ?"  answers  Leo,  laughing.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  didn't  see  you." 

"  Really  !  I  flattered  myself  I  was  visible  to  the  naked  eye, 
even  without  my  bear-skin.  Well,  how  are  you,  old  fellow, 
and  where  do  you  spring  from  ?  '  By  the  struggling  moon- 
beam's misty  light,  and  the  lantern  dimly  burning.'  I  should 
conjecture  that  the  wild  excitement  of  the  town  doesn't  suit 
your  country  constitution.  You  look  uncommon  seedy." 

"  Do  I  ?"  says  Leo.  "  Oh,  I'm  all  right.  The  air  doesn't 
feel  very  fresh  and  bracing,  though,  does  it?"  he  adds,  ex- 
panding his  chest  and  taking  in  a  long  breath. 

"  It  suits  me,"  returns  the  Pigmy,  linking  his  arm  in  Leo's. 


MIGNON.  313 

"  I  don't  like  it  too  fresh.  Where  are  you  off  to?  If  she 
isn't  waiting  for  you,  and  you're  not  late  already,  I'll  make  your 
way  mine." 

And  the  two  stroll  along  in  friendly  talk.  Presently  Leo 
brings  up  the  subject  of  his  intended  journey. 

"  No  !"  cries  the  Pigmy,  stopping  dead  short  in  the  middle 
of  the  pavement,  and  putting  his  glass  in  his  eye.  "  Not 
really !  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  America  and 
round  the  world  !  Why,  my  dear  old  Leo  !  I  thought  if  ever 
a  man's  soul  was  in  the  turnips  of  his  fatherland, — if  ever  a 
man  had  broad  and  enlightened  prejudices  against  every  other 
country  and  its  inhabitants, — it  was  the  present  chip  of  the 
old  bloek  of  Vyner." 

"  Did  you  ?"  laughs  Leo.  "  Perhaps  you  were  right  once  ; 
but  now  my  soul  has  begun  to  soar  above  turnips,  and  I  am 
going  to  travel  for  the  express  purpose  of  getting  rid  of  my 
prejudices." 

"  Do  you  know,"  says  the  Pigmy,  with  solemnity,  "  that 
I're  been  dying  to  go  to  America  for  years  ?  All  our  fellows 
who  were  in  Canada  have  done  nothing  ever  since  but  rave 
about  America  and  American  women  ;  and  I  have  only  been 
waiting  till  I  could  get  some  fellow  big  and  strong  enough  to 
take  care  of  me.  Now,  you're  the  one  of  all  others  I  should 
have  pitched  upon ;  only  it  never  entered  my  brain  to  think 
of  your  going." 

"  Come  with  me,"  says  Leo,  heartily.  "  I  shall  be  only  too 
glad." 

"  Done  !"  cries  the  Pigmy.  "  And  when  we've  done  New 
York,  and  Niagara,  and  Saratoga,  we'll  go  and  hunt  the  grisly 
bear  and  the  wapiti  stag." 

"  How  soon  can  you  start?"  asked  Leo. 

"  Not  before  the  first  week  in  August." 

"  Oh  !"  says  Leo,  hesitating ;  "  I  wanted  to  start  in  a  fort- 
night." 

"  What  are  you  in  such  a  deuce  of  a  hurry  for?"  asks  the 
Pigmy.  u  Have  you  only  just  screwed  up  your  courage,  and 
are  you  afraid  of  its  oozing  away  if  you  don't  take  it  whilst  it's 
in  the  humor." 

"  I  do  want  most  particularly  to  start  at  once,"  says  Leo, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Has  she  thrown  you  over)?  Nonsense,  Leo  !  I  don't 
o  27 


314  MIONON. 

believe  you  ever  spoke  ten  words  to  a  woman  in  your  life,  and 
that's  the  only  reason,  that  and  having  been  caught  cheating 
at  cards,  that  ever  makes  a  man  in  a  violent  hurry  to  fly  his 
country.  And,  my  innocent,  I  should  as  soon  suspect  you  of 
breaking  your  heart  about  a  woman,  as  of  turning  up  the  king 
once  too  often." 

"  Of  course,"  says  Leo,  "  there  is  nothing  I  should  like 
better  than  to  have  you  for  a  travelling  companion,  but " 

"  Don't  say  anything  about  But.  If  it  would  give  you  so 
much  pleasure,  don't  think  of  denying  yourself  for  a  moment. 
You  see,  my  dear  Leo,  there's  Inspection  the  end  of  July,  and, 
though  I  firmly  believe  it  would  go  off  just  as  well  without 
me,  I  should  never  be  able  to  persuade  them  of  it  at  the  Horse 
Guards.  And  then  you're  a  free  agent,  and  can  quit  your 
country  whenever  you  feel  disposed  ;  but  I  have  to  ask  leave. 
Come,  now,  don't  be  selfish,  there's  a  good  fellow.  I've  set 
my  heart  on  going  with  you." 

"  Let  me  think  about  it,"  answers  Leo. 

"  That's  just  what  I  can't !"  retorts  the  Pigmy.  "  If  I 
parted  from  you  without  having  nailed  you,  I  should  receive 
a  polite  and  affectionate  letter  at  the  Guards'  Club  to-morrow 
morning,  regretting  very  much  that  your  plans,  etc.,  etc.  No! 
now  or  never.  Say  the  word  that  is  to  make  me  the  happiest 
of  men"  (and  the  Pigmy,  who  is  as  full  of  tricks  and  jests  as 
a  school-boy,  grasps  his  friend's  hand  in  a  pathetic  and  lover- 
like  way),  "  or  seal  my  wretchedness  forever." 

Leo  laughs. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  Pigmy,  you'll  be  locked  up  before  you 
know  where  you  are.  I  see  No.  X  64  looking  at  you  with  a 
lingering  eye." 

"  No,  really  ?  Dear  Mr.  Policeman,"  says  the  madcap 
Pigmy,  apostrophizing  the  grinning  guardian  of  the  streets, 
"  think  not  'tis  wine  that  makes  my  heart  so  glad.  I  assure 
you  'tis  but  joy  at  meeting  a  long-lost  friend.  Now,  Leo, 
come ;  to  be  or  not  to  be  ?" 

"  We  will  talk  it  over  to-morrow.  When  you  have  had 
time  to  reflect,  perhaps  you  may  not  be  so  keen  about  it. 
Come  and  breakfast  with  me,  and  we'll  go  over  all  the  pros 
and  cons." 

And  so  they  part.  Leo  gets  very  little  sleep  that  night. 
He  is  desperately  unhappy  about  Olga.  From  what  Lady 


MIGNON.  315 

Bergholt  has  said,  still  more  from  Kitty's  words,  he  feels  that 
her  marriage  with  Lord  Harley  is  a  settled  thing,  and  the 
sooner  he  puts  himself  beyond  the  power  to  see  or  hear  of  her, 
the  better  it  will  be  for  him.  He  would  like  immensely  to 
have  Captain  Clyde's  company :  since  their  Eton  days  they 
have  always  been  great  friends,  and  the  Pigmy  has  such 
spirits,  and  is  such  a  thorough  good  little  fellow,  and  a  sports- 
man to  boot,  that  Leo  feels  it  would  be  the  best  thing  that 
could  happen  to  him  to  get  him  for  a  travelling  companion. 
But  to  spend  five  or  six  more  weeks  in  England,  with  nothing 
to  do  but  to  be  restless  and  wretched, — the  sacrifice  seems 
almost  too  great,  even  for  so  desirable  a  consummation.  But 
at  breakfast  next  morning  Captain  Clyde  is  so  enthusiastic 
about  the  trip,  and  so  urgent  in  entreating  Leo  to  wait  for  him, 
that  he  consents.  But  he  has  had  enough  of  London,  and 
resolves  to  go  home  and  devote  the  rest  of  the  time,  before 
starting,  to  his  father.  He  must  see  Olga  once  ere  he  goes, 
must  take  his  final  leave  of  her,  must  hear  her  soft  voice 
wish  him  God  speed.  And  so  he  writes  to  her,— 

"I  am  going  down  home  to-morrow,  and  shall  probably  not 
be  in  London  again  until  just  before  I  start  for  America,  the 
first  week  in  August.  You  will  have  left  town  long  before 
then.  May  I  call  and  wish  you  l  Good-by'  some  time  to- 
day?" 

He  despatches  a  commissionnaire  with  his  note,  and  direc- 
tions to  wait  for  an  answer.  It  is  not  long  in  coming. 

"  I  shall  be  at  home  all  the  afternoon.  Come  when  you 
like." 

After  receiving  and  answering  Leo's  missive,  Olga  has  a 
severe  struggle  with  herself.  Shall  she  let  him  go?  She 
knows  she  has  to  say  but  one  word  to  keep  him  by  her  side, 
and  she  knows  that  she  loves  him.  At  one  moment  she  thinks 
she  will  say  the  word,  will  brave  the  world's  wonder  and  ridi- 
cule, will  risk  her  future  happiness.  But  her  reason  fights 
against  this  decision. 

"  No,"  it  says :  "  he  is  but  a  boy.  He  has  never  been  in 
love  before.  Here  is  an  opportunity  of  testing  whether  it  is 
a  fleeting  passion  or  a  real  love  that  he  feels  for  you.  Let 
him  go, — go,  thinking  you  care  for  Lord  Harley  and  mean  to 
marry  him, — go,  determined  to  tear  you  out  of  his  heart ;  and 
then,  when  he  returns  in  eight  or  ten  months'  time,  if  his 


316  •  MIGNON. 

love  for  you  is  still  unchanged, — then,  rash  as  the  venture 
may  be,  you  will  have  some  excuse  for  believing  in  the  en- 
during power  of  his  affection." 

Another  doubt  assails  Olga.     It  says, — 

"  You  have  no  time  to  lose.  True,  you  have  not  yet  begun 
to  fade  or  look  old  ;  you  have  not  a  gray  hair  nor  a  perceptible 
wrinkle ;  but  a  year  at  your  time  of  life  is  of  very  great  im- 
portance. When  he  returns,  you  will  be  nearly  thirty-one, 
and  he  five-and-twenty.  Somehow,  twenty-nine  seems  so 
much  younger  than  thirty." 

Olga  tries  hard  to  be  strong,  but  she  is  not  sure  of  herself. 
And  it  is  more  than  probable  that  if  Leo  had  spoken  to  her 
as  he  did  the  previous  autumn,  if  he  had  pleaded  to  her  in 
his  impassioned  young  voice  and  with  all  the  fervor  of  his 
heart  as  he  did  then,  she  might  have  yielded  to  his  prayer,  and 
the  Pigmy  would  have  to  forego  his  trip  to  America, — at  all 
events,  in  Leo's  company.  But  Fate  has  its  own  way  of  order- 
ing matters,  without  much  reference  to  the  will  of  beings  who 
are  still  pleased  to  consider  themselves  free  agents.  In  the 
first  place,  it  ordained  that  Leo  should  resolve  in  his  heart  to 
betray  no  sign  of  weakness  during  his  farewell  interview  with 
the  woman  he  loved.  He  would  not  pain  her  by  seeming  un- 
happy !  he  would  make  no  reference  to  Lord  Harlcy :  he 
would  endeavor  to  behave  in  a  manly  spirit,  that  he  might 
not  cause  her  pain,  nor  seem  in  any  way  to  reproach  her  for 
what  was  no  fault  of  hers,  though  it  had  proved  the  misfor- 
tune and  misery  of  his  life. 

In  the  second  place,  Fate  ordained  that  poor  Leo  should 
see  Lord  Harley  leaving  Mrs.  Stratheden's  house  just  as  he 
came  within  half  a  dozen  doors  of  it.  It  happened  in  this 
way.  Olga  had  given  orders  that  she  was  "  not  at  home,"  and 
Lord  Harley,  in  common  with  other  callers,  received  that 
answer.  But  he  had  a  message  that  he  particularly  wished  to 
give  to  Mrs.  Stratheden,  and,  being  on  sufficiently  intimate 
terms  at  the  house,  he  told  the  butler  he  would  go  into  the 
library  and  write  a  note.  Thus  he,  of  course,  appeared  to  Leo 
to  have  been  received  by  Olga ;  and  the  poor  lad  felt  stung  to 
the  quick.  But  he  was  too  loyal  to  accuse  his  mistress  of 
having  given  him  intentional  pain  in  letting  him  run  the 
risk  of  meeting  Lord  Harlcy. 

Truscott,  who  is  devoted  to  Leo,  remarks  the  painful  agita- 


MIONON.  317 

tion  in  his  face  as  he  ushers  him  up-stairs,  and  feels  great  sym- 
pathy for  him. 

"  When  the  drawing-room  bell  rings,"  he  says  to  the  foot- 
men, on  descending,  "  you  needn't  come  up.  I'll  show  Mr. 
Vyner  out." 

With  considerable  delicacy  of  feeling,  he  augurs  that  Leo 
may  perhaps  not  care  to  be  looked  at  by  prying  eyes  when  he 
comes  down  again. 

The  interview  is  embarrassing  to  both.  Olga,  knowing 
nothing  of  Lord  Harley's  call,  cannot  give  an  explanation  of 
it  to  Leo.  An  explanation,  too,  at  such  a  critical  moment 
might  have  been  dangerous.  At  the  first  sight  of  his  love, 
alone,  too,  as  he  has  not  seen  her  for  many  a  long  day,  Leo  is 
on  the  verge  of  forgetting  his  resolutions ;  but  he  makes  a 
strong  effort,  and  is  almost  cold,  almost  distant,  in  manner. 
He  speaks  of  his  intended  journey  as  though  the  thought 
were  a  real  pleasure  to  him  rather  than  pain  and  grief.  He 
talks  himself  into  a  false  enthusiasm,  which  deceives  Olga, 
who  is  exceedingly  sensitive,  and  prone  to  doubt  her  own 
power.  She  is  disappointed,  chilled,  and  her  own  manner  be- 
comes cooler,  more  distant.  A  woman  is  conscious  of  her 
strength,  and  can  use  it  as  long  as  she  has  to  refuse  a  man  who 
pleads  to  her ;  but  when  no  favor  is  asked  of  her,  she  is 
almost  nettled  into  offering  it. 

Olga  is  more  than  half  tempted  to  reproach  Leo  with  fickle- 
ness and  infidelity.  It  is  not  long  before,  mutually  embar- 
rassed, mutually  disappointed,  each  wishes  the  interview  at  an 
end. 

Leo  rises  to  go  :  Olga  rises  too :  she  does  not  bid  him  stay. 
As  he  goes  towards  her  to  take  his  long  farewell,  Leo's 
strength  wanes.  There  is  a  mist  between  him  and  the  face  he 
loves  and  may  never  see  again :  the  old  feelings  surge  up  in 
his  breast :  he  longs  to  take  her  in  his  arms  for  once,  to  kiss 
her  eyes,  her  lips,  her  hair,  to  entreat  her  for  the  last  time. 
But  his  reverence  for  her  is  even  stronger  than  his  passion. 
What  if  she  should  be  offended,  indignant  ?  He  dares  not 
risk  parting  from  her  in  anger:  so  he  takes  the  little 
jewelled  fingers  in  his,  lays  his  lips  reverently  upon  them,  and 
with  this  he  goes. 

When  he  is  gone,  Olga  retreats  to  her  room,  and  is  no 
more  seen  until  dinner.  Mrs.  Forsyth's  quick  eyes  remark 

27* 


318  MJGNON. 

that  her  eyelids  are  swollen  and  pink,  and  draws  her  own 
conclusions. 

As  for  Leo,  as  he  goes  away  from  the  door  and  down  the 
street,  his  heart  sinks  lower  at  every  step,  he  feels  unutterably 
wretched,  the  sunshine  irks  him,  the  gay  bustle  of  the  crowded 
streets  jars  upon  him,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  wishes 
he  had  never  been  born. 

The  days  lag  wearily.  He  tries  hard  to  be  cheerful  in  the 
presence  of  his  father.  But  Mr.  Vyner  is  dull  and  out  of 
sorts  too  :  he  is  miserable  about  Leo's  journey,  and  yet  he  feels 
that  it  will  be  almost  a  relief  when  he  is  gone.  He  cannot  but 
notice  how  haggard  and  wretched  the  boy  looks.  The  poor 
old  squire  is  more  vindictive  than  ever  against  Olga:  every 
time  he  looks  at  Leo  he  applies  to  her  mentally  some  uncompli- 
mentary epithet,  coupled  with  curses  deep  and  broad.  He 
begins  to  hate  all  women  for  her  sake :  the  sight  even  of  his 
housekeeper,  whom  he  has  always  regarded  with  an  eye  of 
favor,  is  displeasing  to  him.  That  buxom  person  has  no  idea 
of  being  under  the  ban  of  her  master's  disfavor  without  know- 
ing the  reason  why,  and  ventures  one  day  to  put  the  question 
what  she  has  done  to  displease  him. 

"  Done  !"  growls  the  squire.  "  Nothing  in  particular.  You're 
a  woman  :  that's  enough." 

Mrs.  Hales  looks  a  little  surprised,  as  well  she  may. 

"  You're  all  full  of  your  cursed  tricks  and  wiles,"  cries  her 
master,  wrathfully.  "  Why  can't  you  leave  us  poor  devils  of 
men  alone  ?" 

"  Really,  sir !"  exclaimes  the.  housekeeper,  bridling  under 
the  idea  that  Mr.  Vyner  intends  some  personality. 

"  Pshaw !"  he  says,  with  a  grim  laugh.  "  I  don't  mean 
you.  You're  a  good  enough  woman  in  your  way.  Still,  I 
dare  say,  if  you  had  the  chance,  you'd  lead  some  poor  fellow 
the  life  of  the  d d." 

Mrs.  Hales  retires  in  high  dudgeon,  and  imparts  to  the 
butler  her  belief  that  the  squire  has  gone  off  his  head. 

"  Not  he  !"  is  the  answer.  "  Don't  you  see  what  he  is  driv- 
ing at  ?  Why,  Mr.  Leo  is  fretting  about  some  lady  or  other, 
and  it  makes  the  old  gentleman  quite  mad." 

u  Poor  Mr.  Leo !"  says  the  housekeeper,  sympathizingly. 
"  I'm  sure  she  must  be  a  fine  piece  of  goods  if  he  isn't  good 
enough  for  her." 


MIGNON.  319 

"Perhaps  there's  a  hobstacle,"  suggests  the  butler.  "Per- 
haps she's  got  a  husband." 

"  Lor,  Mr.  Simpson !  don't  say  such  a  thing !"  cries  Mrs. 
Hales,  looking  shocked;  but  from  that  moment  she  adopts 
this  view  of  the  case,  and  feels  increased  sympathy  for,  and 
interest  in,  her  young  master. 

The  day  of  Leo's  departure  comes  at  last :  the  dog-cart  is 
at  the  door ;  he  has  gone  round  and  shaken  hands  with  every 
one,  bidden  them  "  good-by,"  and  received  their  hearty  good 
wishes ;  men  women,  and  children  are  all  hidden  in  corners 
and  looking  through  loopholes  to  see  the  last  of  him.  The 
squire  comes  out  on  the  steps  to  see  him  off. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  boy !  God  bless  you !"  he  says,  clutch- 
ing his  son's  hand  in  a  vice,  and  speaking  in  a  strangely  hoarse, 
tremulous  tone. 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  old  dad,"  says  Leo,  in  a  voice  no  whit 
firmer,  though  he  tries  to  infuse  a  great  deal  of  cheerfulness 
into  it.  "I  shall  write  you  yards  of  letters  whenever  I  get 
a  chance.  Good-by !  Good-by !" 

He  is  off.  The  squire  stands  for  a  moment  until  he  is  out 
of  sight ;  then  he  brushes  something  away  from  his  eyes  with 
the  back  of  his  hand,  d — ns  his  favorite  dog  who  gets  in  his 
way,  makes  a  rush  for  his  room,  and  shuts  the  door  with  a  slam 
that  makes  the  house  shake. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

LEO  and  Captain  Clyde  are  on  board  the  Cunard  steamer 
bound  for  New  York.  They  left  Queenstown  yesterday  morn- 
ing, and  begin  to  feel  quite  at  home  with  their  new  life.  The 
Pigmy's  first  excitement  is  calming  down,  and  he  has  already 
embarked  in  a  flirtation  with  a  very  pretty  girl,  one  of  the 
passengers. 

"  I  have  discovered  the  name  of  my  idol,"  he  says  to  Leo, 
as  they  take  an  after-dinner  stroll.  "  She  is  Miss  Maud 
Marian  Hutchins,  and  she  lives  in  a  house  with  a  brown-stone 
front  in  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York.  Isn't  she  a  screamer? 


320  M1GNON. 

Not  quite  so  big  as  I  should  like :  she  is  only  half  a  head 
taller  than  me,  and  not  quite  enough  developed  for  my  taste ; 
but  she  is  the  biggest  woman  on  board, — at  all  events,  the 
biggest  that  has  shown  up  yet." 

"  Why  this  passion  for  big  women,  Pigmy  ?"  asks  Leo, 
laughing. 

"  Isn't  it  self-evident?"  answers  the  Pigmy.  "  Women  like 
either  one  thing  or  the  other.  I'm  not  a  great  hulking  fellow 
like  you,  whom  they  expect  to  protect  and  take  care  of  them : 
on  the  contrary,  they  love  to  protect  and  take  care  of  me  and 
pet  me.  And  big  women  are  always  so  jolly  and  good-natured 
(if  they're  plump,  that  is)  ;  whereas  nine  out  of  ten  little 
women  are  vixens.  Maud  Marian  seems  particularly  amiable, 
and  has  a  charming,  frank  way  of  giving  her  opinion,  and  of 
asking  questions,  that  is  irresistible.  I  am  not  quite  so  sweet 
on  Papa  Hutchins :  he  seems  to  have  the  traditional  venera- 
tion for  the  almighty  dollar  and  his  own  country,  and  tells  me 
that  for  a  young  chap  who  wants  to  see  life  and  real  slap-up- 
looking  girls,  N' York's  the  place.  He  considers  London  a  very 
one-horse  place  as  far  as  amusement  is  concerned,  though  he 
admits  it's  the  mercantile  city  of  the  world.  Here  comes  my 
charmer.  I'll  introduce  you,  if  you  promise  not  to  take  a 
mean  advantage  of  your  six  feet  to  cut  me  out." 

"  No,  thanks,"  answers  Leo.  "  I  dare  say  she'd  rather 
have  you  all  to  herself."  And  he  walks  away. 

The  Pigmy  proceeds  to  join  Miss  Hutchins,  who  is  remark- 
ably handsome,  even  for  an  American.  She  has  dark-brown 
rippling  hair,  fine  eyes,  sparkling  with  fun,  a  lovely  complex- 
ion, and  pearly  teeth,  which  she  shows  liberally,  though  natu- 
rally, every  time  she  speaks  or  laughs,  which  is  by  no  means 
unfrequently.  Her  hands  are  small,  and  it  is  really  wonderful 
how  she  can  tramp  up  and  down  in  the  indefatigable  way  she 
does  on  her  tiny,  daintily-shod  feet.  She  is  eminently  unlike 
her  father,  who  is  one  of  the  class  his  countrymen  love  to  call 
"  Petroleum,"  and  "  Shoddy  ;"  and  indeed  it  is  through  hav- 
ing "  struck  ile"  some  ten  years  ago  that  Mr.  Hutchins  has 
amassed  the  handsome  fortune  of  which  he  is  now  the  proud 
owner.  Young  ladies  have  before  now  applied  the  same  con- 
temptuous epithets  to  Maud  Marian.  She  overheard  them 
once,  and  went  in  much  wrath  and  tribulation  to  her  father. 
He  gave  something  between  a  laugh  and  a  snort.  "  Let  'em 


MIONON.  321 

call  you  what  they  dam  please,"  he  said,  consolingly  :  "  there's 
precious  few  of  'em  you  can't  take  the  shine  out  of;  and  if 
your  looks  ain't  enough,  why,  I  can  back  'em  up  with  dollars, 
anyhow !"  And  Mr.  Hutchins  slapped  his  pockets  till  they 
emitted  a  resonance  that  appeared  to  give  him  considerable 
satisfaction. 

"  Guess  your  friend's  got  a  touch  of  the  dismals,"  observes 
handsome  Maud  Marian,  as  Captain  Clyde  joins  her.  She  is 
a  little  piqued  that  Leo  does  not  seem  to  desire  her  acquaint- 
ance. "  P'rhaps  he's  a  bit  squeamish  yet.  I  noticed  he 
wasn't  much  up  to  his  meals." 

Now,  the  Pigmy  has  a  mania  for  practical  jokes, — not  the 
practical  jokes  that  endanger  life  and  limb  and  partake  of 
the  nature  of  horse-play,  but  he  dearly  loves  to  entrap  peo- 
ple's credulity  by  extraordinary  stories.  As  he  possesses  a 
wonderful  command  of  countenance,  he  is  not  unfrequently 
successful. 

"Ah,"  he  says,  gravely,  "he  has  a  strange  story,  poor  fel- 
low !" 

"  Won't  you  tell  it  me  now  ?"  asks  Maud  Marian,  persua- 
sively. "  When  I  go  around,  I  like  to  pick  up  a  heap  of 
queer  stories  to  tell  when  I  get  back." 

"Come  and  sit  down,  then,"  says  the  Pigmy.  "As  the 
immortal  Watts  remarks,  in  his  beautiful  poem, — 

'  Those  little  feet  were  never  made 
To  tramp  around  all  day.'  " 

"  Guess  you're  pokin'  fun  at  me,  Mr.  Vyner !"  observes 
Maud  Marian,  showing  her  two  little  rows  of  pearls. 

"  Now,  if  it's  not  an  impertinent  question,"  says  the  Pigmy, 
placing  a  rocking-chair  for  her,  and  ensconcing  himself  in  a 
contiguous  one,  "how  did  you  know  that  my  name  was 
Vyner?" 

"  Well,"  responds  the  young  lady,  frankly,  "  I  know  wan 
of  you  is  the  Honorable  Captain  Hercules  Clyde,  and  I  guessed 
it  couldn't  be  yew." 

"  Because  Hercules  was  a  big  fellow  ?"  suggests  the  Pigmy. 

"Jest  so,"  responds  Maud  Marian,  with  a  merry  laugh. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  says  the  Pigmy,  in  an  explanatory  tone, 
"  in  our  country  they  christen  you  whilst  you  are  still  in  your 
infancy;  and  as,  unfortunately,  it  wasn't  in  the  power  of  my 
o* 


322  M1QNON 

godfathers  and  godmother  to  add  a  cubit  to  my  stature  when 
I  grew  up,  they  didn't  know  what  a  very  inappropriate  thing 
they  were  doing  in  giving  me  the  family  name." 

"  It  won't  do  !"  says  Maud  Marian,  shaking  her  head.  "  I 
know  you're  not  Captain  Clyde." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  asks  the  Pigmy,  putting  his  glass  in 
his  eye,  and  contemplating  with  much  pleasure  the  charming 
face  before  him. 

"  Because  he's  in  the  Guards,"  cries  the  fair  one,  triumph- 
antly. "  Ah !  you  didn't  think  I  knew  that  tew  when  you 
tried  to  hoax  me.  You  might  be  called  Hercules  and  be  a 
little  chap,  but  you  couldn't  be  a  little  chap  and  be  in  the 
English  Guards." 

"  Allow  me  to  set  you  right,"  says  the  Pigmy,  gravely. 
"  Nearly  all  the  officers  in  the  Guards  are  small :  they  pick 
them  out  on  purpose  to  show  off  the  men." 

"  No  !"  exclaims  Maud  Marian,  incredulously. 

"  Fact,  I  assure  you.  There  are  officers  in  her  Majesty's 
Brigade  of  Guards  smaller  than  me." 

"  Well !  you  dew  astound  me,  anyhow !"  utters  Maud  Marian. 
"  And  you  want  me  to  go  right  away  and  believe  that  you're 
the  Honorable  Captain  Hercules  Clyde,  of  the  Guards  ?" 

"  My  name  is  certainly  Hercules  Clyde,"  replies  the  Pigmy, 
imperturbably,  "  and  I  have  the  honor  to  hold  a  commission 
in  the  Foot  Guards." 

"  And  you  mean  to  say  that  you  march  around  with  them 
great  big  fellers  with  the  muffs  on  their  heads?" 

"I  do." 

"  Well,"  remarks  Miss  Huchins,  with  a  certain  amount  of 
admiration,  "  you  air  a  spunky  little  chap  !" 

"  I'm  delighted  to  have  your  good  opinion,"  says  the 
Pigmy,  with  perfect  gravity. 

"  I  will  say  they  dew  look  lovely,  the  English  Guards  !"  ex- 
claims Maud  Marian,  with  enthusiasm.  "  Your  women  are  a 
poor  lot,  excuse  me,  sir,  and  look  as  if  they  dressed  out  of  a 
cast-off-clothes  store ;  but  your  men  are  grand.  Why,  Eng- 
lishmen and  Amer'can  women  could  lick  the  world  between  'em ! 
Why,  when  I  fust  came  to  London  and  went  around,  I  says, 
1  Well,  where' s  all  this  English  beauty  they  make  such  a  fuss 
about  ?  for  I  haven't  set  eyes  on  it  yet,  and  I've  been  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  in  Hyde  Park,  tew  whole  days,  and 


MIGNON.  323 

around  Bond  Street  and  Piccadilly.'  '  You  must  go  to  Ascot,1 
says  some  one.  So  Pa  and  me  we  got  on  the  cars,  and  down 
we  went.  Well,  there  was  the  Princess  of  Wales, — she's  a 
reel  beauty,  but  she  isn't  English  at  all, — and  there  was  p'r'aps 
a  dozen  or  so  handsome-looking  women  who  perhaps  Worth  or 
La  Ferriere  might  have  turned  out,  but  the  rest  were  as 
or'nary-looking  a  lot  as  ever  I  saw,  with  their  clothes  pitch- 
forked on,  and  feet  as  long  and  as  flat  as  a  dish."  And  Maud 
Marian  contemplates  her  own  charming  little  foot  with  undis- 
guised satisfaction.  "  Guess  you'll  see  more  beauty  fust  after- 
noon you  walk  up  Fifth  Avenue,  than  there  was  collected  to- 
gether at  Ascot  Cup  day.  And  my  !  if  you  want  to  see  women 
rigged  out,  you'll  see  it  in  N'York,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Our  chief  object  in  visiting  America,"  remarks  the  Pigmy, 
gravely,  "is  to  see  the  beauty  of  your  ladies,  the  fame  of 
which  is  very  great  in  London." 

"  Why,  is  it  now  ?"  exclaims  Maud  Marian,  with  that  naive 
and  genuine  pleasure  Americans  always  take  in  hearing  any- 
thing that  belongs  to  them  praised,  especially  by  an  English 
person. 

"  I  confess  it  is  very  easy  for  me  to  believe  all  I  have  heard 
in  that  respect,"  says  the  Pigmy,  looking  with  deliberate  ad- 
miration at  his  fair  interlocutor. 

Maud  Marian  gives  a  merry  laugh.  She  does  not  attempt 
to  parry  the  obvious  compliment. 

"  Oh,  wal,"  she  says,  "  I  guess  I'm  not  ugly  enough  to 
scare  crows  with  ;  but  wait  till  you've  seen  some  of  our  reel 
beauties,  and  you  won't  think  much  to  the  Venus  de  Medici 
after  them,  anyhow.  There's  your  friend  again,  looking  dis- 
maller  than  ever,  and  all  this  time  you  haven't  told  me  that 
story  about  him." 

"  Between  ourselves,"  utters  the  Pigmy,  in  a  low,  impressive 
voice,  "  he's  not  quite  right  here."  And  he  gives  a  little  tap 
to  his  forehead. 

"  Why,  isn't  he,  now?"  says  Maud  Marian,  seriously. 

"  And  I,"  continues  the  Pigmy,  "  am  taking  care  of  him." 

"  Yew !"'  laughs  Maud  Marian. 

"  Yes,"  answers  the  Pigmy,  solemnly.  "  Brute  force  is  no 
good.  Samson  wouldn't  have  been  any  use  with  him.  It's 
moral  influence.  Now,  I  possess  moral  influence  to  an  ex- 
traordinary degree.  If  you  look  at  my  eye,  Miss  Hutchins, 


324  MIGNON. 

you'll  understand  in  a  moment  what  I  mean."  And  Captain 
Clyde  turns  a  steady  and  unfaltering  look  on  Maud  Marian, 
though  there  is  a  faint  twitch  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

a  Guess  the  glass  has  a  lot  to  do  with  your  mor'l  influence." 
she  laughs,  merrily.  "  But  now  do  tell,  what  is  the  reel  Mr. 
Vyner's  story  ?" 

The  Pigmy  contracts  his  face  till  it  wears  an  expression 
almost  of  horror,  and,  putting  his  lips  very  close  to  his  listener's 
ear,  he  whispers, 

"  He's  a  misogynist." 

Maud  Marian  arches  her  pretty  eyeorows  with  an  expression 
of  awed  wonder. 

"  And  what  is  that,  sir?"  she  asks  the  Pigmy,  perplexed. 

"  A  woman-hater,"  he  says,  solemnly. 

"  Wai,"  she  laughs,  merrily,"  "  if  he  don't  get  cured  o' 
that  complaint  our  side  o'  the  watter,  guess  it's  taken  such  a 
hold  of  him  it's  not  like  to  come  out  at  all." 

"  That's  the  very  reason  we  are  taking  this  trip,"  says  the 
Pigmy,  with  increased  seriousness.  "  He's  had  all  the  hand- 
somest Englishwomen  at  his  feet,  but  he  won't  look  at  them. 
Then  some  one  suggested  America." 

"  Why,  now,  has  he  ?"  remarks  Maud  Marian,  looking  at 
Leo's  distant  figure  with  considerable  interest.  "  But  why 
can't  he  be  let  alone  ?  If  he  hates  us,  guess  the  loss  is  his 
side  more'n  ours." 

"  You  see,"  says  the  Pigmy,  "  he's  the  owner  of  such  an 
enormous  property.  That's  why  he  can't  be  allowed  to  retain 
his  aversion  for  the  sex.  If  he'd  only  marry,  they  would 
make  him  a  duke  at  once." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  exclaims  the  fair  one,  opening  her  handsome 
brown  eyes  very  wide.  "  But  why  can't  they  do  it  without, 
if  they  want  to  ?" 

"  Oh,"  answers  the  pigmy,  "  in  our  country  they  never  itake 
an  unmarried  man  a  duke,  because,  you  see,  it's  a  very  serious 
business,  and  it  would  be  no  good  making  a  duke  for  one 
generation  :  he  must  have  a  son  to  succeed  him." 

"  Guess  it'll  make  the  English  gals  mad  if  he  dew  take 
back  a  wife  from  America,"  says  Miss  Hutchins. 

"  I  guess  it  will,"  replies  the  Pigmy,  with  perfect  gravity 
of  countenance. 

The  following  day,  Maud  Marian,  in  accordance  with  a 


MIONON.  325 

resolution  she  has  formed  during  the  night,  makes  a  pretext 
for  entering  into  conversation  with  Leo.  It  is  not  long  before 
that  acute  young  lady  discovers  that  she  has  been  made  the 
victim  of  a  hoax.  She  forbears,  however,  to  tax  the  Pigmy 
with  his  iniquity,  but,  determined  not  to  be  "  bested  by  a 
Britisher,"  she  tells  him  one  or  two  most  astonishing  yarns 
about  her  own  country,  which  he  accepts  in  perfect  good  faith, 
being  prepared  for  anything,  however  extraordinary,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Like  most  English  people  on 
their  first  visit  to  America,  the  only  thing  he  positively  can- 
not believe  is  that  there  is  a  singular  resemblance  between  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  well-bred  of  both  countries. 

She  is  not  long  in  discovering  Leo's  real  ailment,  and  comes 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  useless  to  waste  her  time  and  bland- 
ishments on  him.  He  is  very  pleasant  and  courteous,  smiles 
at  her  naive  sayings,  and  never  avoids  her,  but,  with  the  in- 
stinct of  her  sex,  she  knows  that  the  citadel  has  been  already 
taken,  and  is  impregnable  to  assault. 

"  Strikes  me,"  she  remarks  one  day  to  Captain  Clyde,  "  the 
complaint  your  friend's  sufferin'  from  is  liking  one  of  our  sex 
too  much  instead  of  too  little." 

"  No !"  says  the  Pigmy,  putting  his  glass  in  his  eye  and 
looking  interested.  "  What  makes  you  think  that  ?" 

"  Guess  you  know  all  about  it,"  she  answers,  giving  him  an 
inquisitorial  look. 

"  No,  upon  my  honor !  I  never  thought  poor  old  Leo  knew 
one  woman  from  another." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Then  I  reckon  you've  been  goin'  around  with 
your  eyes  in  the  back  of  your  head.  He  knows  one  so  much, 
he  don't  care  to  know  nothing  of  all  the  rest.  And  I  s'pose 
she  don't  see  it  in  the  same  light,  for  he's  that  onhappy,  I  know 
sometimes  he  wishes  himself  in  kingdom  come.  Why,  hevn't 
you  heard  him  sigh,  and  hevn't  you  seen  that  dull  miserable 
look  come  over  him  ?" 

"  Yes :  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  put  the  former  down  to 
indigestion,  and  the  latter  to  ennui.  You  know  we  are  always 
supposed  to  take  our  pleasures  sadly.  Here,  Leo  !"  he  cries, 
as  the  subject  of  their  discussion  comes  within  hail ;  "  what  do 
you  think  Miss  Hutchins  says  about  you  ?" 

Maud  Marian  does  not  attempt  to  stop  him  :  she  wants  con- 
firmation of  her  opinion. 

28 


326  MIGNON. 

11 1  cannot  tell,  I  am  sure,"  answers  Leo,  in  his  pleasant 
voice.  "  Nothing  unkind,  I  will  answer  for  it." 

"  She  says,"  pursues  the  Pigmy,  deliberately,  taking  a  criti- 
cal survey  of  his  friend's  face,  whilst  Maud  Marian  does  the 
same, — "  she  says,  my  guileless  and  misunderstood  Py lades, 
that  you  are  so  desperately  in  love  with  some  unknown  fair  one 
that  the  rest  of  the  sex  have  no  charms  in  your  eyes." 

The  crimson  mounts  to  Leo's  throat  and  temples :  he  is 
utterly  unprepared  for  this  attack,  and  is  furious  to  find  him- 
self blushing  like  a  school-girl. 

The  Pigmy,  with  ready  tact,  comes  to  his  rescue. 

"  See  !"  he  says,  turning  to  his  fair  companion,  "  his  blushes 
attest  his  innocence.  The  bare  thought  is  too  much  for  his 
modesty.  I  knew  you  were  mistaken." 

But  in  his  secret  heart  the  Pigmy  is  convinced  that  Maud 
Marian's  surmise  was  correct,  and  burns  to  ask,  "  Who  is  she  ?" 

Poor  Leo !  he  tries  hard  to  be  brave,  but  he  is  passing 
through  a  fiery  ordeal.  Again  and  again  he  tells  himself  that 
all  is  over  between  him  and  Olga, — that  he  has  to  begin  life 
afresh, — that  it  is  weak,  unmanly,  wrong,  to  go  on  loving  her 
so  idolatrously  now  he  knows  that  she  can  never  be  his, — nay, 
that  she  will  be  another's ;  for  on  this  point  Leo  has  not  the 
faintest  doubt.  Raymond  had  written  him  just  before  he  left 
England,  "  It  is  as  well  perhaps  that  you  are  going  out  of  the 
country,  for  I  hear  it  is  settled  that  Olga  is  to  be  Lady  Harley. 
When  you  come  back,  perhaps  you  will  be  more  charitably  dis- 
posed towards  me  than  that  night  when  you  gave  me  such  a 
tremendous  wigging  for  coveting  my  neighbor's  wife." 

Of  course  Leo  could  not  know  that  Raymond  only  spoke 
from  a  bare  rumor,  to  suit  his  own  purpose,  and  had  not  seen 
Olga  since  her  return  to  Blankshire.  The  monotony  of  the 
sea-voyage  wearied  him  intensely.  To  the  great  delight  of 
the  majority  of  passengers,  the  sea  was  perfectly  calm:  he 
would  have  liked  it  to  be  rough  and  turbulent,  in  consonance 
with  his  own  feelings,  for  contending  outward  forces  give  relief 
to  those  struggling  inner  ones. 

"  How  tame  the  sea  looks  !"  he  remarks  to  Miss  Hutchins, 
as  they  stand  looking  down  at  it  together.  "  It  is  dreadfully 
disappointing  to  wake  up  and  find  it  just  the  same  day  after 
day." 

"  Calc'late  you're  about  the  only  person  as  finds  it  disappoint- 


MIGNON.  327 

ing,"  returns  Maud  Marian,  dryly.  "  The  ocean  swell's  a  gent 
whose  acquaintance  I've  no  desire  on  airth  to  make.  I've 
never  wance  missed  a  meal  this  journey;  and  that's  more  to  me 
than  all  the  grandeur  of  the  waves  and  '  that  sort  of  thing,  you 
know,'  "  (mimicking  the  Pigmy). 

Leo  is  immensely  relieved  when  they  reach  New  York.  For 
the  first  time  he  is  conscious  of  a  pleasurable  excitement  which 
the  novelty  of  everything  about  him  inspires :  there  is  a  brisk 
go-aheadness  about  everybody  that  makes  a  striking  contrast 
to  the  stolidity  and  comparative  impassiveness  of  his  own 
countrymen. 

"  Au  revoir  !"  says  Maud  Marian  to  the  Pigmy.  "  Guess 
you'll  be  ashore  fust,  anyhow:  we'll  have  an  almighty  lot  of 
traps  to  pay  deuty  on.  Guess  you'll  have  to  look  a  bit  spryer 
here  than  you  dew  in  the  old  country :  you  won't  have  time 
for  all  your  fine  dandified  Guards'  airs  in  N'York." 

And  she  throws  him  a  merry  smile  over  her  shoulder  as  he 
joins  the  queue. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A   PACKET   OF   LETTERS. 

fit 

From  Leo  to  Mr.  Vyner. 

SOREL,  CANADA,  Sept.  — ,  187 — . 

"  MY  DEAREST  FATHER, — 

"  We  have  been  so  constantly  on  the  move  that  I  have  really 
had  no  opportunity  of  writing  you  more  than  just  a  line  or  two 
at  a  time.  I  think  I  told  you  how  we  went  from  New  York 
up  the  Hudson  in  a  gigantic  steamer,  a  '  floating  hotel'  as  they 
call  it,  and  I  must  confess  that  Americans  very  far  surpass 
us  in  the  luxury  and  comfort  with  which  they  travel.  Of 
course  there  are  drawbacks,  and  one  has  to  overcome  one's  class 
prejudices,  or,  at  all  events,  keep  them  in  one's  pocket  out  of 
sight,  and  to  bear  as  best  one  may  the  sights  and  sounds  that 
the  national  throat  unceasingly  sends  forth :  still,  there  is  an 
immense  deal  both  to  admire  and  wonder  at.  I  can't  help 


328  MIGNON. 

being  amused  at  the  naive  pride  of  the  American  in  his  country, 
and  the  way  in  which  he  expects  you  to  be  struck  all  of  a  heap 
at  everything  you  see.  I  suppose  they  know  by  our  looks  that 
we  come  straight  from  the  British  Isles,  and  so  they  interview  us 
considerably,  and  if  we  don't  fall  into  raptures  over  everything 
I  can  see  they  ascribe  it  to  sheer  envy  and  jealousy.  One  man 
guessed  I  should  find  England  a  very  one-hoss  place  after 
Amer'ka ;  he'd  been  there  once  and  found  it  'nation  dull ;  and 
as  for  our  railway  travelling,  it  was  a  disgrace  to  a  civilized 
nation ;  it  was  an  incentive  to  murder  and  crime  and  every 
atrocity  ;  but  of  course  if  an  Englishman  considered  himself 
such  an  almighty  sight  better  than  other  folk,  he  must  incur 
those  risks ;  for  his  own  part,  he  felt  he  was  a  man  and  a 
brother,  and  he  didn't  care  who  he  sat  alongside  of,  as  long  as 
it  wasn't  a  darned  nigger.  We  saw  a  good  deal  of  beauty  and 
fashion  at  West  Point.  The  American  women  are  remarkably 
handsome,  and  wonderful  dressers.  As  for  Pigmy,  I  did  not 
know  how  to  get  him  away  :  he  fell  in  love  with  a  fresh  beauty 
every  day,  and  they  all  seemed  to  take  to  him  amazingly.  I 
am  not  surprised,  for  their  men  are  by  no  means  equal  to  them- 
selves in  manner  or  attractiveness.  We  went  afterwards  to 
Newport  and  Saratoga,  and  saw  more  beauty  and  more  dress, 
and  the  Pigmy  fell  deeper  in  love  than  ever.  Keen  as  he  is 
about  sport,  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  I  could  get  him 
off  and  bring  him  here.  We  went  first  to  Quebec,  ancTon  the 
journey  met  a  man  who  offered  us  some  fishing  on  the  Jacques 
Cartier  river.  I  must  say  the  kindness  and  civility  we  have 
met  with  has  been  something  wonderful.  The  Pigmy  had  lots 
of  letters  of  introduction,  but  has  hardly  presented  any :  there 
has  been  no  occasion.  Here  a  man  enters  into  conversation  with 
you  in  a  train,  or  on  a  steamboat,  and,  after  an  half  an  hour's 
acquaintance,  offers  you  al-1  sorts  of  hospitality.  I  fancy  two 
American  strangers  travelling  in  England  would  have  to  wait 
a  long  time  before  they  were  offered  shooting,  fishing,  and  free 
quarters  by  any  of  our  countrymen.  We  had  splendid  fishing, 
pulled  out  salmon  as  fast  as  we  could  throw  a  line,  but  the  flies 
and  mosquitoes  are  something  too  fearful.  We  have  tried 
everything, — have  smeared  our  faces  with  beastly  smelling  oil, 
and,  as  a  last  resource,  the  Pigmy  has  tied  up  his  head  in  a 
muslin  bag,  and  looks  like  a  peach  on  the  south  wall.  Then 
we  went  to  the  Falls  of  Montmorency,  which  are  very  fine : 


MIONON.  329 

there  we  got  some  capital  trout,  but  were  still  persecuted  by 
flies.  Then  we  took  steamer  to  Sorel.  We  live  in  a  hut  with 
a  native  Canadian,  and  are  having  excellent  shooting, — any 
quantity  of  snipe  and  duck ;  but  the  mosquitoes  completely 
prevent  one's  enjoying  anything.  Next  week  we  go  up  the  St. 
Lawrence  to  Montreal,  then  to  Niagara,  and  thence  to  Chicago, 
where  I  hope  to  find  a  letter  from  you.  Tell  me  what  sort  of 
sport  you  are  having,  and  how  you  amuse  yourself.  I  hope 
to  hear  you  are  having  what  they  call  here  '  a  good  time,'  and 
that  you  don't  miss  me  a  bit.  Kindest  remembrances  to 
everybody.  "  Ever  my  dearest  father, 

"  Your  affectionate  son, 

"  LEO." 
From  Mr.  Vyner  to  Leo. 

"THYRSTAN  HALL,  Oct.  — ,  187—. 
"  MY   DEAR   LEO, — 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  get  your  letters.  I 
am  half  disposed  to  envy  you  your  sport,  though  the  flies,  as 
you  describe  them,  must  be  plaguy  troublesome.  Being  in 
English  dominion,  and  catching  salmon  and  trout,  makes  me 
feel,  although  there's  so  much  water  between  us,  as  if  you  were 
still  in  civilized  parts.  I  only  wish  you'd  make  up  your  mind 
to  stop  there,  and  give  up  Mexico  and  the  San  Francisco 
journey.  By  all  accounts,  you  are  having  capital  sport ;  and 
what  more  can  you  want  ?  What's  the  use  of  running  into 
danger  ?  I  read  in  a  paper  the  other  day  that  some  of  those 
infernal  Indians  had  caught  two  white  men  and  tortured  and 
scalped  them.  However,  if  it  pleases  the  Almighty  to  let 
you  make  a  fool  of  yourself  and  lose  your  life  without  doing 
any  good  by  it,  I've  no  more  to  say.  Please  God  you  may 
come  back  ;  and,  if  you  do,  I  hope  and  trust  you'll  come  back 
the  man  you  used  to  be  some  fifteen  months  ago.  Make  up 
your  mind  that  things  are  best  as  they  are,  as  /  am  quite  sure 
they  are,  and  that  if  you  had  had  your  own  way  you'd  be  wishing 
to  heaven  by  this  time  you  hadn't.  Talking  of  that,  a  letter 
came  for  you  yesterday,  in  a  female  hand,  bearing  the  Blank- 
shire  postmark :  so  I  suppose  that  Jezebel  of  a  woman  can't 
let  you  alone.  I  was  glad,  however,  to  see,  by  her  sending  it 
here,  that  you  were  not  corresponding  with  her ;  and  if  you 
take  my  advice  you'll  throw  it  into  the  fire  unopened.  I  had 

28* 


330  MIGNON. 

a  good  mind  to  do  it  myself:  however,  I  hate  anything  that 
isn't  fair  play,  and  I  don't  suppose  a  straightforward  man  like 
myself  is  any  match  for  this  middle-aged  flame  of  yours, — bless 
her.     You  know  what  I  mean.     There,  there  !  I'm  only  writ- 
ing myself  into  a  rage,  and  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings. 
So  take  the  cursed  thing  and  blubber  over  it,  and  kiss  it,  and 
—however,  there's  an  end  of  it.     Hartopp  and   Everett 
have  been  with  me:  we  got  fifty  brace  on  the  1st,  thirty  the 
2d,  and  twenty-five  the  3d,  besides  any  quantity  of  ground 
game  and  a  few  partridges.     The  latter  are  very  wild.     The 
bag  for  the  three  days  was  four  hundred  head, — quite  enough, 
to  my  thinking,  for  a  sportsman.    I  hate  your  battues.  I  asked 
that  snob  Jameson,  very  much  against  the  grain,  because  he 
was  civil  to  you ;  but  he  gave  me  to  understand  my  shooting 
wasn't  good  enough  for  him.     He  asked  me  to  a  big  day  next 
week, — expects  at  least  a  thousand  head  ;  but  I  told  him  that 
if  my  shooting  was  too  little  for  him,  his  was  too  much  for 
me.     I  need  not  say  I  miss  you ;  but  I'm  getting  on  very  well, 
considering,  and  have  actually  promised  to  pay  three  visits 
next  month, — wonderful  for  me.     Hales  is  very  anxious  in 
her  inquiries  after  you.     Whenever  the  post  brings  a  letter 
from  you,  she  comes  and  fusses  about  and  pretends  to  dust  the 
things :  so  yesterday  I  had  to  ask  her  whether  she'd  leave  me 
in  peace  to  read  your  letter,  or  whether  she'd  like  to  have  it 
first.     She  bounced  out  of  the  room :  so,  thank  goodness,  I 
got  rid  of  her.    Hang  me  if  I  don't  think  the  old  fool's  in  love 
with  you  :  you  seem  irresistible  in  the  eyes  of  middle-aged 
females.     Well,  I've  got  to  the  end  of  my  paper,  and,  as  you 
know,  I'm  not  much  of  a  hand  at  letter-writing.     Let  me  hear 
from  you  as  often  as  you  can  manage  it,  and  believe  me,  my 
dear  Leo,  "  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  RALPH  VYNER. 

"  P.S. — Don't  be  annoyed  at  anything  in  my  letter.    I  must 
have  my  say,  you  know,  and  I  can't  re-write." 

This  is  Mr.  Vyner's  letter,  and  the  priceless  document  he 
encloses  runs  as  follows  : 

"THE  MANOR  HOUSE,  Oct.—,  187—. 
"MY  DEAR  LEO, — 

"  Nearly  three  months  since  I  saw  you,  and  all  this  time 
not  a  line.     Are  you  angry  with  me,  or  have  you  forgotten 


MIGNON.  331 

me  ?  Don't  you  know  what  an  interest  I  take  in  all  your 
plans  and  movements,  how  heartily  I  sympathize  with  your 
ideas,  and  how  much  I  expect  of  and  for  your  future  ?  Indeed, 
it  is  not  kind  of  you  to  keep  this  long  silence.  I  am  only 
just  going  to  write  you  a  little  note,  that  I  may  have  a  four- 
fold return,  for  I  cannot  think  of  any  news  to  tell  you  that 
you  would  care  to  hear.  All  the  horses  and  dogs  that  you 
used  to  take  an  interest  in  are  in  a  flourishing  state.  Truscott 
asked  after  you  the  other  day,  and  when  I  told  him  of  your 
proposed  journey  round  the  world  he  looked  blank  and  said 
he  hoped  you  would  come  back,  but  his  tone  intimated  that 
he  thought  it  more  than  doubtful,  and  I  know  in  his  own 
mind  he  expects  you  will  share  the  fate  of  Captain  Cook. 
Joking  apart,  my  dear  Leo,  I  hope  you  will  take  care  of  your- 
self and  not  run  into  needless  danger :  there  are  other  people, 
remember,  besides  your  father  who  cannot  afford  to  lose  you. 
There  is  very  little  Blankshire  news  to  tell.  Ma  chere  and  I 
have  entertained  the  county  and  been  entertained  in  return. 
Our  lovely  neighbor  Lady  Bergholt  is  at  the  Court  and  im- 
mensely admired.  She  has  had  a  twin  brother  staying  with 
her,  a  charming  young  fellow,  almost  too  pretty  for  a  man,  but 
not  at  all  effeminate  in  his  ways  and  manners.  I  do  not  see 
very  much  of  Raymond :  his  poor  mother  is  as  great  an  in- 
valid as  ever. 

"  Ma  chere  and  I  have  some  thought  of  wintering  in  Rome; 
life  is  rather  a  difficult  problem  for  two  desolate  women  with 
no  ties  and  no  particular  vocation :  still,  it  is  only  talk  at 
present.  And  when  we  have  yawned  ourselves  through  the 
winter,  there  is  only  the  same  routine  of  the  London  season 
to  go  through  again,  which  I  confess  is  beginning  to  pall  upon 
me.  I  am  half  minded  to  go  round  the  world  myself, — only 
I  am  rather  helpless,  and  fond  of  comfort,  and,  when  I  have 
been  away  from  England  two  months,  invariably  get  home- 
sick. I  must  send  this  letter  to  Thyrstan  to  be  forwarded, 
for,  through  your  unkind  neglect  of  me,  I  have  not  the  least 
idea  where  to  address  this.  Ma  chere  unites  with  me  in  very 
kindest  regards,  and  believe  me,  dear  Leo, 

"Always  most  sincerely  yours, 

"  OLGA  STRATHEDEN. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  American  women.  I  have 
met  some  very  handsome  ones  in  Paris." 


332  MIONON. 

Captain  Clyde  to  Mr.  Vyner. 

"  CHAPIEAU'S  HOTEL,  DENVER,  Oct.  — ,  187 — . 

"  DEAR  MR.  VYNER, — 

"  Don't  be  alarmed  at  seeing  my  cabalistic  signs  instead  of 
Leo's  manly  hand :  he  is  all  right,  but  strained  his  wrist  giv- 
ing the  most  richly-deserved  punishment  I  ever  saw  to  a 
brute  who  was  maltreating  a  mule,  and  so  can't  hold  a  pen  at 
present  with  his  usual  ease  and  elegance.  Our  gentleman 
whipped  out  his  revolver,  but  we  are  pretty  handy  with  those 
playthings  by  now,  and  as  there  were  two  of  us,  and  we  were 
both  ready  for  him,  he  put  it  away  again,  after  treating  us  to 
a  little  language  that  would  have  made  every  separate  hair  of 
a  bargee's  head  stand  on  end.  I  have  been  practising  shoot- 
ing through  my  trousers-pocket,  which  is  a  handy  thing  to  be 
able  to  do  in  this  part  of  the  world,  and,  though  a  destructive 
amusement,  it  may  be  useful,  and  one  has  generally  to  pay  for 
a  new  accomplishment. 

u  We  had  tremendous  luck  last  week,  and  both  got  a  wapiti 
on  Laramie  Plains.  We  were  so  delighted  that  I  think  we 
shed  tears  of  joy.  There  seems  some  doubt  about  our  coming 
across  a  '  grisly,'  but  we  are  promised  any  quantity  of  black 
bears ;  indeed,  I  think  of  writing  home  and  offering  to  un- 
dertake the  contract  for  our  men's  bearskins  for  next  year, 
only  it  might  be  a  little  premature.  Did  Leo  tell  you  about 
our  buffalo-hunt  at  Fort  Hayes  ?  One  of  the  party  had  a 
shocking  bit  of  luck.  His  horse  was  galloping  bravely  along 
by  the  side  of  the  infuriated  buffalo ;  he  fired  ;  down  went 
his  horse,  and  shot  my  friend  half  a  mile  off.  We  were  very 
much  astonished  when  he  got  up  and  his  horse  did  not :  in 
the  excitement  he  had  actually  shot  the  poor  brute  dead.  We 
are  told  this  not  unfrequently  happens.  Thank  heaven,  Leo 
and  I  each  got  our  bull  instead  of  our  friend's  cattle ;  but,  I 
must  say,  buffalo-hunting  is  an  overrated  amusement.  So  far 
our  travels  have  been  a  tremendous  success.  I  have  enjoyed 
myself  immensely,  and  Leo  is  getting  back  to  his  old  cheery 
form.  I  have  a  safe,  comfortable  feeling  in  going  about  with 
him,  and  his  handsome  proportions  seem  to  inspire  a  certain 
amount  of  respect. 

u  We  haven't  come  across  any  Indians  at  present,  though 
we  were  treated  to  some  cheerful  and  inspiriting  stories  about 


MIGNON.  333 

them  at  the  fort.  We  only  found  a  small  party  there,  as  most 
of  the  officers  and  men  were  out  scouting,  which,  being  inter- 
preted means  looking  after  Indians.  It  seems  that  some  little 
time  ago  the  officers  gave  some  ladies  a  picnic  in  Paradise 
Valley,  and  unintentionally  took  them  a  good  deal  nearer  those 
blessed  regions  than  they  had  any  intention  of.  About  the 
middle  of  the  day  the  men  shouldered  their  rifles  and  went  in 
pursuit  of  something  upon  which  to  gratify  the  destructive 
instincts  of  the  sex,  whilst  the  amiable  fair  ones  occupied 
themselves  in  preparing  a  repast.  (I  wonder  how  that  sort  of 
picnic  would  be  appreciated  by  our  own  charming  country- 
women !)  The  bold  hunters  had  not  got  very  far,  when  they 
had  the  agreeable  excitement  of  beholding  in  the  distance  a 
hundred  or  so  Indians,  attended  by  their  fighting  squaws. 
With  stealthy  haste,  our  friends  crept  back  to  the  trees  where 
they  had  left  their  own  (non-fighting)  squaws,  and,  without 
waiting  for  explanation,  or  dinner,  or  anything  else,  they  car- 
ried off  the  wondering  fair,  and  '  I  can  tell  yew,  sir,'  said  our 
gallant  historian,  '  we  went  on  our  marrow-bones  and  thanked 
the  Almighty  when  we  got  'em  safe  inside  the  fort.' 

"  However,  the  line  of  country  we  are  going,  we  don't  ex- 
pect to  meet  any  of  the  copper-colored  gentry,  and,  as  we  travel 
never  less  than  a  party  of  five  or  six,  they  are  not  likely  to 
molest  us. 

"  I  envy  Leo  his  long  tour.  I,  hapless  victim  to  my  patri- 
otism, have  to  be  home  the  middle  of  December.  What  a 
lion  I  shall  be  when  I  get  back  ! — what  yarns  I  shall  spin  ! — 
one  can  always  do  that  better  without  one's  travelling  com- 
panions. I  have  been  getting  up  all  the  stories  of  great  ex- 
ploits done  out  here,  and  I  can  assure  you  some  of  them  are 
calculated  to  make  people  ask,  '  How  is  that  for  high  ?'  (an 
expression  much  in  vogue  here),  and  I  intend  to  make  my- 
self the  hero  of  them  all.  Leo's  best  love, — he  will  write  in 
a  day  or  two, — and  believe  me 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

"HERCULES  CLYDE. 

"  Really  and  truly,  Leo's  hurt  is  not  worth  mentioning. 
He  makes  me  add  this  P.S.  lest  you  should  be  uneasy." 


334  MIGKON. 


Leo  to  Mr.  Vyner. 

"  SANTA  Fi,  Oct.  — ,  187—. 
"  MY  DEAREST  FATHER, — 

"  Our  travelling  has  been  so  rough  and  continuous  lately 
that  I  could  not  very  well  write,  and  in  these  parts  the  post 
goes  but  seldom,  and  is,  I  am  afraid,  not  very  much  to  be  re- 
lied on.  I  was  awfully  glad  to  get  your  letter  at  Taos  :  home 
news  in  these  wild  parts  is  more  welcome  than  I  can  tell  you. 
About  a  fortnight  ago  we  left  Manitou  for  Pueblo  (a  distance 
of  forty-five  miles),  in  a  light  wagon  drawn  by  two  mules  hired 
with  a  driver  at  Denver.  The  road  was  good,  though  the 
country  looked  like  a  desert,  and  you  would  be  surprised  how 
the  cattle  seem  to  thrive  on  the  coarse  herbage.  We  passed 
several  teams,  driven  by  Mexicans  (as  villanous-looking  a  lot 
as  I  ever  came  across).  We  reached  Pueblo  in  the  afternoon, 
and  had  a  very  fair  dinner  of  antelope,  copiously  garnished 
with  Mexican  onions.  Next  day  we  crossed  the  Arkansas, 

and  drove  to   D 's  farm,  the  finest  in   that  part  of  the 

country.  The  house  is  only  one  story  high,  situated  in  the 
midst  of  eight  hundred  acres  of  Indian  corn  and  wheat.  Most 
of  the  land  is  artificially  irrigated, — a  system,  I  think,  which 
might  be  adopted  with  advantage  in  many  parts  of  England. 
They  gave  us  a  warm  welcome,  and  entertained  us  sumptuously 
on  young  bear,  corn,  onions,  beet-root,  and  milk.  After  din- 
ner we  walked  up  a  beautiful  canon  alongside  a  stream,  across 
which  we  counted  lots  of  beaver-dams.  Our  old  enemies  the 
mosquitoes  are  as  bad  as  ever. 

"  Next  day  we  went  up  the  mountains  to  shoot.  Pigmy  got 
a  bear,  which  he  threatens  to  take  home  and  have  made  into 
a  bearskin  for  his  own  head,  and  I  got  a  stag  and  a  fawn.  The 
heat  was  intense,  and  we  suffered  tortures  from  thirst.  Poor 
Pigmy  had  frightful  pains  in  his  chest,  caused  by  the  rarity 
of  the  air ;  but  he  is  tremendously  plucky,  and  never  com- 
plains. We  continued  to  ascend  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and 
eventually  got  to  the  top  by  the  Sangre  de  Cristo  pass.  Then 
we  gradually  descended  to  Fort  Garland,  and  on  our  way 
stopped  to  catch  a  few  trout,  and  Pigmy  bagged  ten  teal.  The 
officers  at  the  fort  were  very  civil,  and  put  us  up,  and  the 
commandant  gave  us  a  capital  dinner.  Of  course  we  heard 
lots  of  stories  about  Indians;  but  I  don't  think  we  have 


MIGNON,  335 

anything  to  fear.  "We  go  about  well  armed,  in  case  of  acci- 
dents. 

"  Next  morning,  after  breakfast,  we  drove  seventeen  miles 
along  a  very  good  road  to  San  Luis,  a  wonderful  place  for  wild 
fowl  in  the  winter.  We  got  a  good  bag  of  duck  and  teal. 
Here  we  were  told  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  give  a  ball  or 
fandango  to  the  natives  in  their  assembly  rooms :  every  Mexi- 
can village  has  a  place  set  apart  for  dancing.  About  a  hundred 
accepted  our  invitation ;  and  I  can't  say  we  were  very  proud 
of  our  guests  when  they  arrived. 

"  The  men  were  beastly  dirty  and  disreputable,  and  the 
women  only  a  shade  better ;  only  two  or  three  were  good-look- 
ing. You  should  have  seen  Pigmy  doing  the  polite,  and  en- 
deavoring to  make  himself  understood  and  to  hold  his  nose 
at  the  same  time.  Some  mammas  of  thirteen  brought  their 
babies.  There  was  only  one  kind  of  dance,  as  far  as  I  could 
see,  which  appeared  to  partake  of  the  nature  of  a  religious 
ceremony,  so  solemnly  was  it  conducted,  and  in  perfect  silence. 
We  had  drink  going  all  the  evening,  and  supper  at  eleven. 
Pigmy  led  in  the  prettiest  girl,  but  she  was  very  shy,  and  we 
heard  afterwards  that  it  is  not  the  thing  for  a  Mexican  young 
lady  to  converse  freely  with  the  other  sex.  After  supper 
we  distributed  cigarettes  and  sweetmeats,  which  the  ladies 
thoroughly  appreciated,  and  soon  after  that  the  company  dis- 
persed, and  we  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  that  our  fan- 
dango had  been  quite  a  success.  Do  you  know,  my  dear  old 
dad,  I  can't  help  thinking  it  must  be  a  good  thing  for  one  to 
see  phases  of  life  utterly  different  from  what  one  has  seen  or 
imagined  before  ?  though  I  must  confess  that  nearly  every- 
thing I  have  seen  at  present  has  only  tended  to  make  me  be- 
lieve more  firmly  in  dear  old  England.  I  am  as  thorough  a 
Britisher  as  ever. 

"  We  left  next  morning  at  ten,  and  drove  through  a  good 
grazing  country  well  supplied  with  water.  On  our  way  to 
Costilla  we  got  thirteen  teal.  This  is  a  regular  Mexican 
town :  all  the  houses  are  adobe,  and  only  one  story  high,  with 
flat  roofs  on  which  the  natives  sun  themselves  and  smoke  their 
cigarettes.  Outside  the  houses,  in  sweet  confusion,  you  see 
children,  pigs,  sheep,  goats,  poultry,  and  dogs  of  all  sizes  and 
colors  wandering  about.  I  hate  the  Mexicans :  they  are,  I 
should  imagine,  the  cruellest  and  laziest  wretches  on  the  face 


336  MJGNON. 

of  the  earth.  We  killed  quantities  of  duck,  rabbits,  and  jack 
rabbits,  and  I  caught  some  big  trout  in  the  Rio  Grande  with 
a  red  spoon  bait :  they  wouldn't  look  at  anything  else.  I  got 
a  wolf,  and  Pigmy  a  couple  of  antelope.  Almost  every  other 
^ay  is  a  saint's  day  or  holiday  with  these  lazy  brutes.  One 
day  it  had  poured  in  torrents,  and  on  nay  return  to  the  town 
I  met  a  procession  with  crosses,  crucifixes,  and  flags.  In  the 
centre  was  a  box  carried  by  two  men,  like  a  sedan-chair,  con- 
taining an  image  of  Christ.  This  had  been  hired  from  the 
priest  for  the  day  for  twenty-five  dollars,  and  was  carried 
about  the  streets,  accompanied  by  ringing  of  bells  and  firing 
old  guns,  in  order  to  stop  the  rain.  When  the  natives  cannot 
afford  so  long  a  price,  they  hire  one  of  the  Virgin  for  eight 
dollars. 

"  From  Costilla  we  went  on  fifty  miles  to  Taos,  where  I  got 
your  letter  and  Pigmy  found  a  budget  from  his  people.  Taos 
is  one  of  the  oldest  towns  in  New  Mexico.  We  visited  the 
village  of  the  Pueblo  Indians :  they  have  a  '  reservation'  in  a 
beautiful  valley  on  a  stream  between  two  mountains.  These 
Indians  are  at  peace  now  with  the  whites,  and  are  capital 
farmers.  They  own  large  herds  of  cattle,  sheep,  goats,  and 
excellent  ponies.  The  village  consists  of  two  very  large  adobe 
buildings  from  four  to  five  stories  high,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  stream.  There  are  no  doors  on  the  ground-floor,  but  you 
ascend  from  the  ground  to  the  top  of  the  first  story  by  a  lad- 
der, and  so  on  to  the  top.  To  get  inside  you  descend  a  ladder 
through  a  hole  on  the  flat  roof  into  a  room,  and  so  on  down 
to  the  ground-floor.  The  rooms  are  small.  The  inmates 
squat  about  on  buffalo  robes,  eat  wild  plums,  and  smoke  cigar- 
ettes. Bows  and  arrows,  with  which  they  kill  game,  hang  on 
the  walls,  with  knives  and  rusty  fire-arms.  The  old  chief  was 
very  civil,  particularly  after  we  had  given  him  whiskey.  The 
men  wear  their  hair  long,  and  the  squaws  short,  rather  re- 
versing the  order  of  things.  They  profess  to  be  Roman 
Catholics  ;  but  we  heard  on  very  good  authority  that  they  prac- 
tise snake- worship  in  private  in  egg-shaped  rooms  under  ground. 
No  stranger  is  admitted  or  allowed  to  know  where  these  sub- 
terranean temples  are.  Rattlesnakes  are  caught  and  kept  as 
divinities. 

"  We  came  from  Taos  here.  The  roads  were  dreadful, 
through  a  wretched  country,  with  wretched-looking  people. 


MIGNON.  337 

The  women  cover  their  faces  with  an  old  shawl.  We  were 
thankful  when  we  arrived  at  the  Exchange  Hotel,  from  which 
I  am  now  writing.  It  is  most  indifferent,  but  better  than  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  lately. 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  bored  you  with  this  tremendous  epistle, 
which  I  am  afraid  reads  rather  like  a  chapter  out  of  a  very 
dry  book  of  travels.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  look  forward  to 
your  letters,  and  how  more  than  ever  dear  home  and  England 
seem  to  me  at  this  distance.  My  kindest  remembrances  to 
every  man,  woman,  child,  horse,  and  dog  at  Thyrstan,  and 
with  my  most  affectionate  love  to  yourself,  always,  my  dear 
father, 

"  Your  devoted  son, 

«  LEO." 

Raymond  U  Estrange  to  Leo  Vyner. 

HALL,  Nov.  —  >  187  —  . 


"MY  DEAR  LEO,  — 

"  When  you  receive  this,  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to  join  you. 
I  want  to  get  away  from  this  hateful  place  so  far  that  I  cannot 
even  hear  of  it.  A  most  awful  thing  has  happened  :  I  can't 
write  about  it  ;  the  very  thought  gives  me  the  horrors.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  Lady  Bergholt  has  met  with  a  most  appalling  acci- 
dent :  no  one  knows  yet  if  she  will  live  ;  in  any  case  she  must 
be  disfigured  for  life.  I  was  there  when  it  happened,  and  I 
would  not  go  through  it  again  for  anything  that  mortal  man 
could  offer  me.  I  only  wonder  I  have  kept  my  reason.  As 
it  is,  my  head  feels  very  bad,  and  my  nerves  are  all  to  pieces. 
So  1  am  going  to  start  on  your  track  with  all  the  speed  I  can, 
after  I  get  back  from  Paris,  where  I  go  to-night  to  try  and  get 
rid  of  the  horrors.  Let  me  know  at  the  Brevoort  House,  as 
soon  as  you  possibly  can,  where  and  how  to  join  you.  I  don't 
mind  any  amount  of  hardship  :  I  only  want  to  get  away  from 
this  accursed  place.  Would  to  God  I  had  gone  with  you,  as 
you  wanted  me  ! 

"  Yours, 

"  RAYMOND." 


29 


338  MIGNON. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

u  Let  us  rise  up  and  part ;  she  will  not  know, 
Let  us  go  seaward  as  the  great  winds  go, 
Full  of  blown  sand  and  foani  :  what  help  is  here? 
There  is  no  help,  for  all  these  things  are  so, 
And  all  the  world  is  bitter  as  a  tear. 
And  how  these  things  are,  though  ye  strove  to  show, 
She  would  not  know." 

A  Leave- Talcing. 

POOR  Mignon  !  Mignon,  who  but  so  short  a  time  ago  was 
among  the  fairest  of  women, — on  whom  no  eye  could  rest 
without  acknowledging,  however  grudgingly,  her  wondrous 
beauty.  And  in  a  moment  this  exquisite  work  of  nature  was 
changed  into  a  loathly  and  horrid  thing,  from  which  men 
would  turn  and  shrink.  The  gift  in  which  she  has  triumphed 
is  further  from  her  than  from  many  a  woman  born  unlovely, 
ungracious :  at  least,  men  do  not  turn  shuddering  from  them. 
It  is  a  royal  gift,  beauty,  and  Mignon,  like  many  another  richly 
dowered  godchild  of  nature,  had  worn  it  with  exultant  pride, 
such  pride  as  a  man  may  feel  upon  whose  breast  gleams  the 
order  that  his  sovereign's  hand  has  placed  there.  She  made 
no  boast  of  it,  but  it  was  as  much  a  matter  of  course  with  her 
to  admit  its  possession,  as  for  the  man  on  whom  the  proud  in- 
signia shines.  For  the  poor,  the  plain,  the  insignificant,  she 
had  a  kind  of  contemptuous  pity :  she  was  to  them  what  a 
delicately  fashioned,  exquisitely  painted  vase  is  to  a  common 
delft  mug.  All  the  extravagant,  selfish  claims  she  has  made 
on  others  have  been  made  on  the  sheer,  sole  strength  of  her 
loveliness :  her  feeling  has  always  been,  "  I  am  beautiful,  and 
you  must  worship  me,  must  give  up  to  me."  She  has  been  so 
keenly  conscious  of  her  own  individuality  as  to  be  unable 
thoroughly  to  enter  into,  or  even  recognize,  the  individuality 
of  others.  Intensely  alive  to  all  that  hurt  or  disturbed  her- 
self, she  has  been  almost  indifferent  to  the  pain  she  has  given 
others.  She  has  not  been  sympathetic,  nor  gifted  with  fine 
feelings.  She  has  not  known  the  pain  that  a  tender  heart  can 
feel  for  the  woes  of  others,  still  less  its  gladness  for  others'  joy. 


MIGNON.  339 

And  now,  what  will  she  do  ?  She  is  like  a  Sybarite  sud- 
denly made  destitute ;  she  is  like  a  mariner  shipwrecked  on  a 
barren  rock ;  she  is  like  one  robbed  of  a  love  that  was  more 
than  life.  How  will  she — how  can  she  bear  it  ?  but  God  is 
merciful ;  He  "  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,"  as  Sterne 
(not  David,  nor  Solomon,  nor  Job,  as  people  will  have  it) 
says.  Mignon  remains  profoundly  unconscious  of  the  awful 
fate  that  has  overtaken  her.  Even  as  the  days  and  weeks  go 
on,  as  the  ghastly  wounds  close  into  long  seams,  she  knows 
nothing  of  her  woe.  Her  soul  is  away  on  a  far  journey  :  they 
cannot  tell  if  it  will  ever  return.  The  poor  body  writhes  and 
turns  and  moans  sometimes  as  if  it  suffered  :  sometimes  it  is 
quiet  and  still :  if  the  eyes  unclose,  there  is  no  meaning  nor 
recognition  in  them. 

"  It  is  better  so,"  says  Olga  to  the  heart-stricken  husband, 
with  tears  of  sympathy  in  her  kind  brown  eyes.  "If  we  can 
only  keep  her  from  knowing  what  has  happened  until " 

But  her  voice  dies  away,  for  she  knows  that  exquisite  beauty 
has  fled  forever.  Olga  is  looking  pale  and  worn :  she  has 
passed  through  a  terrible  ordeal.  With  her  intense  sensitive- 
ness, her  highly-strung  nerves,  the  days  she  has  spent  in  this 
terrible  sick-room  have  been  fraught  with  real  suffering  to  her  ; 
but  she  has  never  thought  of  herself,  never  spared  herself:  if 
Mignon  had  been  her  own  sister  she  could  have  done  no  more. 
And  there  had  been  the  harder  task  still  of  soothing  the  heart- 
broken husband,  of  trying  to  pour  consolation  that  was  not 
unreal  nor  stereotyped  into  his  despairing  heart,  of  choosing 
the  time  to  speak  and  the  time  to  forbear,  which  requires  the 
finest  tact  of  all.  A  professional  nurse  had  been  sent  for  at 
once ;  but,  invaluable  and  untiring  as  these  devoted  women 
are,  a  sick-chamber  is  sad  indeed  where  the  head  nurse  is  not 
one  who  gives  her  services  for  love's  sake,  one  who  has  that 
refined  intuition  of  the  patient's  wants  that  no  gold  can  buy. 
And  this  was  Olga's  task.  Lady  Bergholt  could  not  be  moved 
for  some  time  from  the  shabby  little  roadside  inn,  but  Olga 
had  gradually  transformed  the  poor  mean  room  into  something 
unlike  itself.  Every  comfort  was  at  hand.  Her  own  kitchen- 
maid  came  daily  to  prepare  what  the  invalid  was  able  to  take. 
Frequently,  when  the  poor  sufferer  was  restless,  Olga  remained 
by  her  bedside  all  night. 

And   Sir  Tristram, — how  fared   it  with   him?     He   had 


340  MIGNON. 

bought  this  gem  with  all  that  he  had,  and  now,  after  these  thirteen 
little  months'  possession,  months  that  have  lacked  much  of 
the  pride  and  glory  he  had  looked  for,  his  prize  is  flung  at  his 
feet,  flawed,  ruined,  worthless.  No  man  will  covet  it  of  him 
henceforth  forever ;  no  envious  murmurs,  no  loud-whispered 
admiration,  will  fall  on  his  ears  as  she  hangs  on  his  proud 
arm.  Does  he  feel  chafed  and  angry,  as  a  man  might  who 
had  made  a  bargain  and  finds  himself  defrauded  ? — does  he  feel 
a  wish  to  be  quit  of  this  fearful  burden,  such  as  Raymond  had 
felt  that  day  of  horror  when  he  kept  his  ghastly  vigil  ?  No  ! 
God  wot !  Every  selfish  feeling  that  a  passion  less  noble  might 
dictate  is  swallowed  up  in  his  great  love  of  her,  in  his  great 
anguish  for  her  sake.  She  is  no  less  dear  to  him  because  the 
poor  mouth,  that  was  so  lovely  in  its  rippling  child-like  laughter, 
is  torn  and  distorted,  and  the  little  teeth,  that  gleamed  like 
pearls, broken  or  missing, — because  the  cream-white  skin  is  rent 
and  gashed,  and  the  tiny  ear  almost  torn  away ; — nay,  rather 
more  dear.  Because  love,  true  love,  has  its  best  joy  in  giving ; 
because  heretofore,  in  the  plenitude  of  her  youth  and  beauty, 
she  wanted  nothing  of  him,  and  now  she  will  want  everything, — 
all  his  tenderness,  all  his  care,  all  his  watchfulness  to  shield 
her  from  pain,  the  pain  of  feeling  herself  pitied  and  neglected, 
— all  that  he  can  lavish  upon  her  to  atone,  if  may  be,  in  a 
little  measure  for  all  she  has  lost. 

As  he  sits  watching  her  day  and  night  all  his  heart  goes  out 
in  love  and  pity  to  her,  and  his  thoughts  turn  ever  upon  how 
he  shall  lighten  the  load  that  he  shudderingly  knows  will  be 
so  awful  for  her  to  bear.  At  first  he  has  been  so  glad  of  her 
unconsciousness,  has  ardently  desired  that  she  shall  not  know  of 
her  terrible  calamity  until  Time  has  softened  the  worst  of  the 
disfigurement ;  but  now  he  begins  to  long  passionately  for  her 
eyes  to  open  in  recognition  of  him :  his  heart  and  voice  thirst 
to  tell  her  that  she  is  dearer  to  him  than  in  the  fairest  days 
of  her  beauty.  But  it  is  not  to  be.  The  lagging  hours  crawl 
by, — days  when  the  sun  shines  out  cheerily,  and  tries  by  a 
sudden  warmth  to  make  believe  he  is  not  so  very  far  off;  days 
when  the  earth  is  bound  in  the  iron  grip  of  frost  and  ice,  and 
there  are  no  scarlet-coated  riders  to  make  Sir  Tristram's  heart 
still  heavier  within  him. 

At  last  it  is  decreed  that  Lady  Bergholt  may  be  moved, 
and  she  is  carried  back  through  the  gates  of  her  park,  whence 


MIGNON.  341 

she  issued  last  so  lovely  and  wilful.  Oh,  if  we  knew  what  life 
had  in  store  for  us,  how  could  any  of  us  bear  to  live  !  Blest 
ignorance  of  the  future,  more  blest  even  than  the  waters  of 
Lethe,  of  which  Time  gives  our  souls  to  drink ! 

Mary  Carlyle  has  been  summoned  from  Italy.  She  is  at 
Bergholt,  and  has  heart-brokenly  taken  up  her  post  as  nurse. 
Yet  Olga  is  often  here  :  at  first  scarcely  a  day  passes  that  she 
does  not  come  to  see  how  it  fares  with  this  broken  flower  whom 
she  has  nursed  so  tenderly.  And  between  her  and  Mary  there 
springs  up  a  warm  regard.  Mignon  can  no  longer  be  said  to  be 
unconscious,  but  she  is  possessed  by  a  dull,  unalterable  apathy. 
Nothing  can  rouse  her :  she  eats  and  sleeps,  and  even  walks, 
but  only  as  though  she  were  an  automaton :  no  ray  of  intelli- 
gence lights  up  her  blue  eyes  or  kindles  a  smile  in  her  pale 
cheeks.  The  wounds  have  healed  up  wonderfully:  though 
it  is  impossible  she  can  ever  be  beautiful  again,  it  is  hoped  that 
Time  and  mechanical  art  may  soften  the  distortion  that  now 
disfigures  her.  One  side  of  her  face  is  as  lovely  as  ever,  per- 
fectly unscathed,  but  the  other  is  drawn  up  at  the  mouth  and 
down  at  the  eye,  and  deeply  seamed  across  the  cheek  to  where 
the  iron  nearly  cleft  the  ear  in  two.  As  the  months  go  by, 
they  try  to  rouse  her :  they  speak  of  things  that  used  to  in- 
terest her  keenly  in  bygone  days ;  they  even  talk  of  her  acci- 
dent in  her  hearing :  all  in  vain.  At  last  they  bring  Gerry 
to  see  her, — Gerry,  who,  for  his  own  sake,  has  been  kept  away 
till  now.  They  have  prepared  him  to  see  the  change  in  his 
lovely  sister,  and  the  poor  lad  has  primed  himself  bravely  to  go 
through  the  ordeal,  but  his  heart  beats  and  his  knees  knock 
together  as  he  puts  his  hand  on  the  door.  He  goes  falteringly 
towards  her,  sits  on  _the  sofa  beside  her,  with  the  still  beautiful 
side  towards  him,  throws  his  arms  around  her,  crying, — 

"  Oh,  my  darling  Yonnie !  don't  you  know  me?" 

For  the  first  time  a  faint  ray  of  light  comes  into  her  dull 
eyes,  and  she  mutters  inarticulately,  "  Gerry !"  and  subsides 
again  into  her  apathy. 

It  is  too  much  for  the  poor  lad,  the  sight  of  the  piteous,  dis- 
figured face,  the  vacant  indifference,  and  he  rushes  from  the 
room,  breaking  into  great  choking  sobs  the  while  he  goes.  Sir 
Tristram,  who  has  been  waiting  outside,  takes  him  tenderly  by 
the  arm  and  leads  him  away,  and  Gerry  buries  his  face  in  his 
hands  and  cries  like  a  woman. 

29* 


342  MIONON. 

When  the  doctor  pays  his  daily  visit,  he  augurs  very  favorably 
from  his  patient's  momentary  recognition  of  her  brother.  "  It 
is  a  beginning,"  he  says,  cheerfully,  and  Sir  Tristram  feels  hap- 
pier than  he  has  done  since  the  accident.  Poor  Gerry  is  so 
grieved  and  distressed,  they  think  it  better  to  urge  him  to  leave 
Bergholt,  and  the  poor  lad  goes  away  with  the  heaviest  heart 
he  has  ever  carried  in  his  life.  Mignon  takes  no  notice  of  him 
when  he  bids  her  good-by.  Sir  Tristram  has  been  nourishing 
a  painful  idea  in  his  breast.  One  day  he  plucks  up  courage  to 
impart  it  to  Mary.  But,  as  he  speaks,  the  color  deepens  in 
his  face,  and  he  looks  away  from  her. 

"  I  want  you,"  he  says,  in  a  low  voice,  "  to  mention  Ray- 
mond's name  before  her :  it  might  waken  some  memory  in  her 
brain." 

And  Mary,  without  any  comment,  any  gesture  of  surprise 
or  disapprobation,  complies. 

"  Raymond  has  gone  abroad,"  she  says,  taking  her  sister 
gently  by  the  hand.  Twice  she  repeats  the  words,  but  no 
faintest  ray  of  intelligence  lights  up  the  clouded  blue  eyes. 
When  Mary  confides  the  ill  success  of  the  experiment  to  Sir 
Tristram,  he  knows  not  whether  to  be  grieved  or  glad  :  he  is 
willing  to  pay  almost  any  price  to  bring  back  her  wandering 
soul.  Before  setting  out  on  his  journey,  Raymond  wrote  the 
following  letter  to  the  husband  whom  he  no  longer  desired  to 
wrong : 

"  DEAR  SIR  TRISTRAM, — 

"  I  have  hardly  courage  to  address  you,  knowing,  as  I  do, 
that  the  very  thought  of  me  can  only  bring  pain  and  abhor- 
rence to  your  mind.  Injustice  to  myself  I  wish  to  tell  you 
that  it  was  not  through ia*^  persuasion  of  mine  that  Lady 
Bergholt  followed  the  hounds  on  the  day  of  the  accident, 
although  I  was  aware  of  her  intention.  I  hardly  know 
how  to  say  what  is  in  my  mind.  I  implore  your  forgive- 
ness for  any  pain  I  may  have  caused  you  in  days  gone  by 
through  my  imprudent  admiration  for  Lady  Bergholt,  and  I 
wish  to  add,  uncalled  for  though  it  may  seem  at  the  present 
moment,  that  there  was  nothing  in  our  intercourse  that  need 
have  caused  you  uneasiness.  Lady  Bergholt  was  quite  in- 
different to  me,  and  only  amused  herself  at  my  expense." 

It  is  with  pleasure  Raymond  pens  these  lines,  that  would 


MIGNON.  343 

have  humiliated  him  so  bitterly  a  few  days  since :  he  cherishes 
the  idea  eagerly  that  the  life  which  it  was  once  his  ardent  de- 
sire to  make  one  with  his,  has  no  claim  upon  him  ;  he  realizes 
now  with  some  faint  sense  of  shame  that  it  was  not  the 
woman's  self  that  had  roused  his  passion,  but  her  loveliness. 
The  passion  is  gone,  only  a  shrinking  pity  remains,  a  desire  to 
put  the  wide  seas  between  him  and  her  whom  he  had  sworn 
in  his  madness  he  could  not  live  without. 

The  letter  gave  a  certain  degree  of  comfort  to  Sir  Tristram. 
He  believed  it;  though  now  if  the  most  damning  evidence 
had  been  brought  to  him  of  his  wife's  guilt,  it  would  not  have 
lessened  by  one  whit  his  tenderness  and  care  for  her  in  her 
sore  need.  He  did  not  answer  it, — no  answer  was  required, — 
but  he  felt  less  bitter  in  his  heart  against  Raymond  than  he 
had  done  before. 

In  his  thoughtful  care,  Sir  Tristram  has  caused  every  mir- 
ror to  be  removed  from  Mignon's  bedroom  and  boudoir ;  he 
wanted  to  conceal  from  her  as  long  as  possible  the  loss  of  her 
beauty ;  but  alas !  there  was  no  need  for  all  these  precautions : 
beauty  and  ugliness  are  all  alike  to  those  poor  vacant  eyes.  But 
after  Gerry's  visit  the  soul  seems  faintly  to  stir  at  times  in  its 
prison :  now  and  again,  although  she  keeps  utter  silence,  a 
faint  light  dawns  in  her  face,  and  some  object  in  the  room  will 
seem  to  fix  her  attention.  At  these  times  her  husband  will 
come  and  sit  beside  her,  holding  her  hand,  and  lavishing  en- 
dearing words  upon  her.  But  they  return  to  him  barren  as 
though  he  poured  his  tenderness  out  to  a  statue  or  to  some 
dead  woman. 

For  two  or  three  days,  Mary  has  remarked  an  increasing 
intelligence  in  Mignon's  eyes,  but  to  all  attempts  to  attract  or 
direct  her  attention  she  has  remained  impassive.  Her  eyes 
wander  round  the  walls  of  the  room  ;  occasionally  she  puts  her 
hand  to  her  head.  One  day,  to  Mary's  surprise,  she  rises  un- 
assisted from  the  sofa,  and  makes  for  the  door. 

"  What  is  it,  my  darling  ?"  cries  Mary,  springing  up.  "  What 
can  I  do  for  you?" 

But  Mignon  continues  in  silence  to  grope  her  way  like  a 
blind  person  to  the  door.  Her  sister  opens  it,  and  she  goes 
out  and  towards  the  staircase.  She  does  not  resist  Mary,  who 
holds  her  by  the  arm  ;  but  she  goes  slowly  down  the  stairs  to 
the  drawing-room.  Arrived  there,  she  makes  straight  for  the 


344  MIGNON. 

large  pier-glass,  and  stops  resolutely  in  front  of  it.  Just  one 
flash  of  intelligence  in  her  eyes,  one  movement  of  her  hand  to 
her  scarred  face,  and  then  the  old  vacuous  expression  returns : 
she  suffers  herself  to  be  led  to  a  chair,  and  for  that  day  takes 
no  more  notice  of  anything.  When  the  doctor  is  told  of  this, 
he  advises  them  to  put  looking-glasses  in  her  room,  and  not  to 
check  her  if  she  wishes  to  look  at  her  reflection  in  them. 

"  It  may  do  more  than  anything  to  bring  back  her  senses," 
he  says.  And  they  obey  him.  For  a  day  or  two,  Mignon 
does  not  seem  to  remark  the  replaced  mirrors ;  then  she  sud- 
denly takes  her  place  in  front  of  one,  and  stares  at  it  until  some 
one  gently  leads  her  away. 

The  sight  does  not  appear  to  produce  any  effect  upon  her, 
though  she  invariably  puts  her  fingers  up  and  down  the  scarred 
side  of  her  cheek,  and  touches  her  mouth  where  the  teeth  are 
gone.  The  next  day,  when  Olga  is  there,  she  goes  to  the  glass 
and  mutters  some  word  inarticulately.  Olga  strains  her  ears  to 
catch  the  sound.  Again  Mignon  mutters.  Olga  fancies  the 
word  is  Raymond. 

"  Did  you  say  Raymond,  dear  ?"  she  asks,  softly,  taking  her 
hand. 

Again  Mignon  says,  more  distinctly  this  time, — 

"Raymond!" 

But  they  can  elicit  nothing  further  from  her,  and  presently 
she  seems  to  lose  the  idea,  and  subsides  into  her  usual  vacancy. 
Each  day  after  this  her  intelligence  takes  a  step  towards  return- 
ing, and  it  is  evident  to  those  who  watch  her  that  her  mind  is 
dimly  trying  to  grasp  some  thought  or  memory.  That  it  is 
connected  with  the  change  in  her  appearance  is  also  a  certainty, 
for  she  constantly  surveys  herself  in  the  glass,  and  every  day 
the  trouble  in  her  face  deepens.  One  afternoon,  Sir  Tristram 
comes  as  usual  to  visit  her.  Mary  has  gone  for  her  accustomed 
stroll  in  the  grounds,  and  husband  and  wife  are  alone  together. 
One  might  think  there  was  scant  comfort  or  pleasure  for  Sir 
Tristram  in  having  Mignon  all  to  himself,  but  it  does  please 
him,  since,  in  spite  of  her  dumbness  and  her  shattered  beauty, 
he  loves  her  no  less  tenderly  than  when  he  was  her  lover,  and, 
as  he  holds  her  passive  hand  in  his,  his  thoughts  look  ever 
towards  a  future  when  it  shall  be  permitted  him  to  build  up  a 
new  life  for  her,  and  a  happiness  that  shall  not  depend  upon 
the  caprice  of  men's  admiration.  He  feels,  as  he  has  never 


MIONON.  345 

felt  before,  that  she  is  his,  his  entirely,  utterly :  the  superiority 
that  her  youth  and  loveliness  gave  her  over  him,  in  his  eyes, 
is  gone,  and  they  are  equal. 

Twilight  has  crept  on  :  the  room  would  be  dark  but  for  the 
cheery  blaze  of  the  logs  that  throw  their  warm  light  on  every 
object,  even  to  the  farthest  corners.  Sir  Tristram  is  seated  on 
the  sofa  beside  Mignon :  his  ^yes  are  fixed  upon  the  glowing  logs, 
and  his  thoughts  are  far  awr  y  upon  the  oft-worn  track  of  what  he 
will  do  for  her  when  she  g',ts  well.  Suddenly  her  hand  moves, 
he  hears  an  inarticulate  ?jund,  and,  turning  towards  her,  sees 
her  eyes  fixed  on  him  in  perfect  consciousness,  sees  her  poor 
mouth  quiver,  tears  rol)  down  her  cheeks,  hears  the  sound  of  a 
broken  sob.  In  a  mo?.nent  his  arms  are  around  her,  her  head 
is  pillowed  on  his  breast,  and  he  is  pouring  forth  all  the  dear 
and  tender  words  of  love's  vocabulary  upon  her. 

She  is  trying  to  speak :  he  bends  an  eager  ear  to  catch  the 
sounds  his  ears  have  so  long  thirsted  for.  At  first  they  are 
scarcely  intelligible,  but  she  repeats  them  again  and  again : 

"  I  am  hideous,  horrible ;  no  one  will  ever  care  for  me 
again." 

"  Oh,  my  darling,"  he  cries,  joyfully,  "  I  love  you,  love  you 
tenfold  if  you  care  to  have  my  love.  You  are  as  dear  and 
sweet  to  me  as  ever.  I  did  not  love  you  only  for  your  beauty. 
And  in  time"  (soothingly)  "  we  shall  be  able  to  bring  a  great 
deal  of  it  back." 

"  I  am  too  horrible,"  she  mutters,  again,  and  tries  to  cover 
her  poor  scarred  cheek  with  both  her  hands.  But  gently  he 
takes  them  in  his,  and  with  unutterable  tenderness  kisses  the 
scars,  that  have  no  horror,  no  repulsion  for  him,  so  great  and 
perfect  is  his  love. 

"  You  are  not  horrible  to  me,  my  own  love,"  he  says,  in  his 
deep,  kind  voice,  and  again  he  kisses  her. 

"  Raymond,"  she  murmurs. 

He  is  smitten  with  a  sudden  chill :  involuntarily  his  shield- 
ing arms  relax  :  he  presses  his  lips  tight  in  dumb  pain.  Oh, 
God  !  is  the  first  thought  of  her  returning  reason  indeed  for 
that  other  ?  He  waits  in  silent  pain  for  her  next  words. 

"  He  said  so ;  he  said  so,"  she  reiterates,  again  and  again. 

"What  did  he  say,  darling?"  asks  her  husband,  in  a  low 
voice,  trying  to  stifle  his  bitter  pain. 

Mignon  makes  an  effort  to  bring  out  her  words,  but  they 
r* 


346  MIGNON. 

are  almost  inarticulate.  Sir  Tristram  bends  his  ear  close  to 
catch  them. 

"  He  said,"  she  mutters,  "  that  if  I  had  the  smallpox,  or 
were  crushed  in  a  railway  accident,  no  one  would  ever  care  for 
me  again." 

"  Did  he  ?"  cries  Sir  Tristram,  taking  again  that  dear  burden 
into  his  faithful  arms.  "  Oh,  my  darling  !  I  think  he  did  not 
know  what  true  love  meant." 

And  when  Mary  comes  in  he  goes  away  to  his  room,  and 
reverently  and  devoutly  upon  his  knees  thanks  God  for  what 
seems  to  him  the  greatest  blessing  and  happiness  that  has  ever 
been  granted  to  him.  For  now  he  no  longer  doubts  that  his 
darling's  reason  will  return  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

"  An  accent  very  low 
In  blandishment,  but  a  most  silver  flow 
Of  subtle-pace'd  counsel  in  distress, 
Right  to  the  heart  and  brain,  though  undescried, 
Winning  its  way  with  extreme  gentleness 
Through  all  the  outworks  of  suspicious  pride." 

TENNYSOX. 

IT  is  an  April  day, — a  weeping,  smiling  day, — a  day  whose 
tears  are  sudden,  passionate,  and  quickly  over  as  a  child's, 
whose  smiles  are  too  intensely  bright  and  sweet  to  last ;  a  day 
especially  anathematized  by  coachmen,  for  its  bonny  sunshine 
tempts  their  masters  and  mistresses  out,  and  its  merciless  showers 
drench  cattle  and  harness  through  and  through.  Their  own 
clothes  and  hats  they  don't  so  much  mind  about,  their  forti- 
tude being  increased  by  the  secret  knowledge  of  their  employer's 
chagrin.  Among  the  candidates  to  be  the  eighth  wonder  of 
the  world,  I  would  offer  a  place  to  the  coachman  who  volun- 
tarily put  on  an  old  hat  when  the  weather  was  unsettled,  or  a 
footman  who  unfurled  the  carriage-umbrella  as  soon  as  the  first 
drops  of  rain  began  to  descend. 

Mrs.    Stratheden,    prescient   of    coming    storm,   although 


MIGNON.  347 

Phoebus  looks  at  this  moment  as  if  he  was  determined  to 
spend  the  rest  of  the  day  with  Mother  Earth,  has  ordered  the 
victoria  with  one  horse.  She  is  going  to  pay  a  visit  of  con- 
gratulation to  Kitty  on  no  less  important  an  occasion  than  the 
birth  of  a  son  and  heir  to  the  house  of  Clover.  About  a 
month  has  elapsed  since  the  events  of  the  last  chapter,  and 
Master  Clover  is  nearly  three  weeks  old.  Olga  finds  her  little 
ladyship  sitting  up  in  state,  looking  perfectly  lovely.  Her 
face  is  like  a  blush  rose ;  she  is  apparelled  in  velvet  the  color 
of  the  sky,  set  off  with  much  fine  lace ;  on  her  golden  curls 
is  perched  a  dainty  confection  from  some  eminent  artist.  (One 
really  cannot  give  the  same  name  to  this  ethereal  production 
and  the  crochet  pincushion  cover  with  which  modern  house- 
maids keep  up  the  good  old  tradition  of  caps.)  By  her  side, 
on  the  sofa,  snoozes  a  pug,  black-faced  as  even  Diabolus  is 
painted,  while  from  a  basket  on  her  right  peers  a  face  no  less 
swart,  relieved  by  a  bilious  eyeball.  They  know  Olga,  and 
hold  her  in  much  esteem :  therefore  they  do  not  greet  her 
with  that  deafening  uproar,  that  setting  of  every  separate  hair 
on  end,  with  which  it  is  the  custom  of  well-bred  pugs  to  receive 
visitors  at  their  house.  Instead  they  assume  a  grovelling  and 
servile  demeanor  as  they  wriggle  towards  her,  uncurling  for 
an  instant  their  crisp  tails  to  give  them  a  friendly  wag. 

"  What !"  laughs  Olga,  after  she  has  kissed  their  mistress 
and  addressed  a  few  words  to  them  in  dog-language  which  they 
understand  perfectly ;  "  Strephon  and  Chloe  still  in  possession  ! 
Pray,  where  is  the  baby  ?" 

"  Poor  darlings !"  answers  Kitty,  looking  affectionately  at 
the  wistful  black  faces  which  are  waiting  anxiously  to  hear 
what  is  going  to  be  said  about  them ;  "  you  don't  think"  (re- 
proachfully) "  that  I  would  forsake  them  for  a  rival, — even 
for  a  baby  of  my  own.  Could  Missis  be  so  hard-hearted  ?" 
she  says,  apostrophizing  them ;  and  they  roll  their  eyes  and  loll 
their  tongues  pathetically,  and  answer,  as  plainly  as  they  can 
speak,  "  No,  never." 

"  Nurse  will  bring  baby  directly,"  says  the  young  mamma, 
with  an  important  air.  "  Now,  remember,  my  dear,  I  am  not 
one  of  the  foolish  mothers  who  expect  every  one  to  go  into 
raptures  over  their  children.  The  only  thing  I  would  rather 
you  did  not  say"  (with  merry,  twinkling  eyes)  "  is  that  he  is 
like  Jo.  His  mother  says  baby  is  the  image  of  what  Jo  was 


348  MIONON. 

in  his  infancy ;  and  she  seems  to  think  I  ought  to  take  it  as  a 
compliment." 

"  She  is  delighted  with  her  grandson,  of  course,"  says  Olga. 

"  Delighted  is  no  name  for  it,  my  dear.  But  you  see,  ex- 
cellent as  she  is,  I  am  not  equal  to  dear  mamma  and  reminis- 
cences of  Jo's  teething  all  day  long,  so  I  have  to  send  baby 
away  when  I  wish  to  dispense  with  his  grandmamma's  com- 
pany. And  then  she  hates  these  poor  darlings  so"  (pulling 
Strephon's  ear),  "  and  calls  them  beasts  of  dogs,  that  no  Chris- 
tian mother  blessed  with  a  precious  babe  of  her  own  ought  to 
look  at." 

Chloe,  sitting  on  Olga's  velvet  flounces,  with  her  head 
leaning  against  her,  and  her  big  pathetic  eyes  solemnly  up- 
turned, verifies  this  dreadful  recital. 

"  And  are  they  very  jealous  of  the  baby  ?"  asks  Olga, 
laughing. 

"  The  instant  he  appears  they  both  jump  up  on  me  at  once, 
and  try  to  spread  themselves  out  so  that  there  shan't  be  any 
room  for  him." 

As  Kitty  speaks  the  words,  the  door  opens  and  admits  a 
comfortable-looking  elderly  woman,  bearing  the  heir  of  all  the 
Clovers,  and  the  pugs  carry  out  their  mistress's  statement  by 
taking  immediate  and  jealous  possession  of  her,  licking  her 
hands  and  doing  their  utmost  to  divert  her  attention  from  the 
hated  stranger.  Olga  takes  Master  Clover  in  her  arms,  praises 
the  faint  golden  fluff  on  his  head,  tries  to  imagine  she  detects 
a  resemblance  to  Kitty,  and  he  rewards  her  with  an  apoplectic 
gurgle,  which  nurse  affably  interprets  into  a  sign  of  satisfac- 
tion at  making  her  acquaintance.  A  moment  later,  the  Dow- 
ager Lady  Clover  sails  in,  her  ringlets  stiff  and  her  cap-rib- 
bons fluttering  with  delightful  agitation. 

"  You  must  decide,"  she  says,  graciously,  to  Olga,  after  the 
first  salutations,  "  whom  this  cherub  takes  after.  Is  he  not 
the  image,  the  breathing  image,  of  his  papa?" 

Olga  looks  from  the  babe  to  its  lovely  young  mother,  and  is 
fain  to  confess  in  her  heart  that  the  little,  pasty,  blunt-featured 
atom  has  a  good  deal  more  in  common  with  Sir  Josias  than 
with  the  piquante  rosebud  on  the  sofa.  But  she  remembers 
Kitty's  injunction,  and  tries  to  steer  a  medium  course  by 
seeing  a  likeness  to  both. 

"  I  really  believe,"  says  Kitty,  with  a  mischievous  laugh, 


MIGNON.  349 

"  that  in  your  heart  you  think  him  the  image  of  Strephon,  if 
he  only  had  a  black  face,  or  Strephon  a  white  one." 

"  My  love,"  expostulates  the  dowager,  severely,  whilst  Olga 
cannot  help  smiling,  "  you  should  not  say  these  things  even  in 
jest.  When  you  remember  the  way  in  which  dogs  are  alluded 
to  in  the  Book  of  books,  it  is  impious,  I  think,  to  name  them 
in  the  same  breath  with  this  sweet  Christian  infant." 

"  He  isn't  a  Christian,  you  know,  yet,  mamma,"  says  Kitty, 
wickedly  :  "he  hasn't  been  christened." 

The  dowager  looks  shocked. 

"  I  appeal  to  you,  Mrs.  Stratheden,"  she  remarks,  with  great 
gravity.  "I  can't  make  dear  Kitty  see  it"  (the  "dear"  is 
slightly  acid).  "  Do  you  not  think,  now  she  has  this  blessed 
darling,  it  is — I  really  must  say  it — wicked,  a  tempting  of 
Providence,  to  fondle  these — these  animals  ?"  looking  rancor- 
ously  at  the  pugs,  who  cast  an  appealing  glance  at  Olga. 

Olga  pauses  a  moment,  but  the  dowager's  eye  is  severely 
and  questioningly  fixed  upon  her. 

"  You  see,"  she  answers,  gently,  "  Kitty  has  made  such 
pets  of  them,  and  they  have  been  such  an  amusement  to  her. 
and  dogs  are  so  faithful  and  so  intensely  sensitive  to  neglect 
from  those  they  love, — don't  you  think  it  would  be  rather 
cruel  if  she  were  to  banish  them  all  at  once  ?" 

"  There  !"  cries  Kitty,  triumphantly  ;  '•  you  hear  that.  Go 
at  once"  (to  the  dogs)  "  and  give  a  hand  to  your  champion/' 
And  Strephon  and  Chloe  with  intense  gravity  march  up  to 
Olga,  and,  sitting  down  on  their  haunches,  offer  her  their  right 
paws. 

Olga  laughs,  and  the  dowager  hides  her  discomfiture  in  a 
rapturous  embrace  of  the  neglected  babe.  Apparently  her 
sympathy  annoys  him,  for  he  doubles  his  fists  and  begins  to 
scream  lustily,  whereupon  nurse  takes  hasty  flight,  much  grat- 
ified by  a  handsome  and  stealthy  douceur  from  Olga,  under 
pretext  of  one  last  admiring  glance.  The  dowager,  quite  cer- 
tain that  nurse  has  been  making  an  impromptu  pincushion  of 
her  idol,  follows  to  see  fair  play. 

"  You  see,"  says  Kitty,  plaintively,  "  I  never  can  have  him 
all  to  myself.  Mamma  is  very  excellent  and  good,  of  course, 
but — but — a  little  of  her  goes  a  long  way.  If  I  only  knew 
when  she  meant  to  go  !  I  asked  Jo  last  night  to  give  her  a 
hint  j  but,  poor  dear !  he  looked  so  distressed,  I  hadn't  the 

30 


350  MIONON. 

heart  to  say  any  more.  She  tells  him  it  wouldn't  have  lived 
till  now  but  for  her  !" 

"  I  suppose  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  her,"  remarks  Olga, 
rather  perplexed  what  to  say,  but  sympathizing  very  much 
with  Kitty  in  her  heart  for  having  such  a  belle  mere. 

"  Now,"  says  Kitty,  abruptly,  "  let  us  forget  her.  Tell  me 
all  about  poor  Mignou.  You  can't  think  how  I  reproach  my- 
self for  ever  having  quarrelled  with  her.  I  never  was  so 
sorry  for  any  one  in  all  my  life." 

"  She  is  wonderfully  better,"  answers  Olga,  cheerfully. 
"  We  think  she  will  have  her  reason  again  perfectly  in  time, 
and  there  is  every  hope  that  she  will  not  be  so  very  much  dis- 
figured ultimately." 

"  Poor  thing  !  how  does  she  bear  it?"  says  Kitty,  her  eyes 
brimming  with  great  drops  of  sympathy  :  "  she  was  so  lovely 
and  so  devoted  to  admiration.  Do  you  know,  at  the  time,  I 
could  hardly  help  thinking  it  would  have  been  a  mercy  if 
she  had  not  lived  ?" 

"  I  felt  so  at  first,"  answers  Olga,  gently ;  "  but  we  are  not 
so  wise  as  One  who  orders  our  destinies.  If,  as  I  almost  hope 
may  be  the  case,  she  learns  to  love  Sir  Tristram  for  his  intense 
goodness  and  devotion, — if  she  comes  to  find  her  happiness  at 
home  instead  of  in  the  world, — won't  it  be  better  than  if  she 
had  kept  her  beauty  and — and  it  had  perhaps  spoiled  her  life?" 

"How  heartless  of  Raymond  to  rush  off  at  once,  before  he 
knew  whether  she  would  live  or  die!"  cries  Kitty,  indignantly. 

"  Poor  boy !"  answers  Olga ;  "  it  did  seem  so ;  but,  oh, 
Kitty,  if  you  had  seen  him  as  I  did !  He  must  have  suffered 
horribly :  he  was  so  pinched  and  ghastly-looking,  I  hardly 
knew  him.  He  is  very  sensitive,  you  know." 

"  Sensitive !"  echoes  Kitty,  incredulously.  "  Much  love  he 
must  have  had,  to  fly  from  her  like  the  plague  because  he 
thought  her  beauty  was  gone.  That  is  just  like  men." 

"  Not  all  men,"  says  Olga,  softly.  "  Look  at  Sir  Tristram  ! 
If  you  could  see  his  devotion,  his  perfect  love  of  her,  his 
thoughtfulness,  you  would  never  say  a  word  against  a  man 
again.  And  really,  my  dear"  (smiling),  "  I  cannot  imagine 
that  you  have  any  right,  from  your  own  experience,  to  speak 
harshly  of  the  sex." 

"  I  like  to  call  them  wretches  and  think  they  are,"  laughs 
Kitty.  "  It  gives  me  a  pleasant  feeling  of  superiority  to  talk 


MIGNON.  351 

of  their  wickedness  and  selfishness.  My  own  experience !  no 
indeed  !  Jo  is  the  dearest,  best  fellow  in  the  world,  and  I 
treat  him  shamefully.  But  he  likes  it,  you  know :  it  wouldn't 
be  me  if  I  did  not  tease  and  worry  and  gird  at  him  from 
morning  till  night." 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  very  much  on  your  conscience," 
smiles  Olga. 

"  Tell  me  some  more  about  Mignon,"  says  Kitty;  and  Olga 
complies. 

"  Ever  since  the  day,  about  a  month  ago,  that  she  recovered 
her  reason  and  had  a  great  fit  of  crying,  she  has  been  per- 
fectly sensible,  though  sometimes  she  sits  for  whole  days  with- 
out saying  a  word.  She  is  generally  more  or  less  in  an  apa- 
thetic state :  she  rarely  smiles,  and  every  now  and  then  has 
terrible  fits  of  crying, — poor  dear ! — when  she  suddenly  re- 
members the  change  in  her-  looks ;  and  some  days  she  has 
frighful  headaches,  and  cannot  raise  her  head  from  the  pillow. 
Is  it  not  strange  ? — she  used  to  dislike  me,  you  know,  and 
now  she  always  seems  pleased  to  see  me ;  and  when  these 
frightful  pains  come  on,  nothing  soothes  her  so  much  as  my 
passing  my  hand  gently  to  and  fro  over  her  hair." 

"Poor  thing!"  ejaculates  Kitty.  "How  I  should  like  to  see 
her !  As  soon  as  I  drive  out  I  will  go  to  her." 

"  I  almost  doubt  if  she  would  see  you.  She  is  very  sensi- 
tive about  being  looked  at :  none  of  the  servants  are  allowed 
to  see  her :  the  nurse,  her  sister,  and  Sir  Tristram  wait  upon 
her  entirely.  But  I  will  hint  at  it,  if  you  wish." 

"  Do !"  cries  warm-hearted  Kitty.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  can  never 
be  happy  until  I  have  thrown  my  arms  round  her  and  kissed 
her  and  asked  her  forgiveness  (only  in  my  heart,  of  course, 
for  all  these  bygones  must  be  bygones).  Does  she  ever  allude 
to  Raymond?" 

"  Only  in  one  way.  It  seems  that  once,  I  suppose  when 
they  had  some  little  quarrel,  he  told  her  that  if  she  were  to 
lose  her  beauty,  no  one  would  ever  care  for  her  again, — that 
there  was  nothing  else  lovable  in  her." 

"  What  a  brute  !"  cries  Kitty. 

"  You  forget,  my  dear :  she  was  beautiful  then,  and  how 
could  he  forecast  so  awful  a  calamity  ?  This  seems  always  in 
her  thoughts;  nothing  Mary  or  I  can  say  gives  her  any 
comfort." 


352  MIQNON. 

"  Poor,  poor  Mignon  !"  sighs  Kitty. 

Six  more  weeks,  lighted  by  an  ever  warmer-waxing,  longer- 
tarrying  sun,  journey  towards  summer.  May  is  drawing  to 
his  last  days,  and  Olga  is  still  at  The  Manor  House.  The 
charm  of  London  seasons  is  wearing  off  for  her.  She  is  no 
longer  under  the  magnetizing  influence  that  draws  folk  town- 
and  smokewards  when,  the  country  is  putting  forth  her  charms 
most  lavishly  to  stay  them.  She  has  not  even  made  her 
annual  curtsy  to  her  Sovereign,  nor  given  definite  orders  to 
the  housekeeper  in  Curzon  Street  to  make  ready  for  her  ad- 
vent. 

There  are  various  reasons  for  this  tardiness  and  indecision  : 
perhaps  the  strongest  is  that  one  day  when  she  broached  the 
subject  of  her  departure  to  Mignon,  the  poor  thing  burst  into 
tears  and  entreated  that  she  would  not  leave  her  again.  For 
at  the  beginning  of  the  month,  feeling  a  want  of  change,  she 
had  run  over  to  Paris  for  a  fortnight,  and  Mignon  had  missed 
her  terribly,  and  been  almost  inconsolable.  Lady  Bergholt  has 
not  lost  her  old  petulant,  exacting  ways  ;  though  it  is  infinitely 
touching  sometimes  to  see  how  the  poor  thing  will  suddenly 
stop  short  and  sigh,  and  leave  some  imperious  sentence  un- 
finished, as  if  she  remembers  that  she  no  longer  has  the  right 
to  exact. 

But,  beyond  her  sympathy  for  Mignon,  Olga  is  feeling  a  lack 
of  interest  in  the  things  that  once  gave  her  pleasure.  The  world 
seems  empty  and  unsatisfying ;  her  heart  aches  with  longing 
for  a  separate  individual  interest  in  life  ;  the  threads  and  frag- 
ments of  other  more  complete  lives  that  come  in  contact  with 
her  own  give  her  a*  sense  of  dissatisfaction.  It  seems  an 
empty,  undesirable  fate  to  lead  a  life  of  which  her  own  pleasure 
is  the  sole  centre  and  object.  She  repents, — in  spite  of  all  that 
common  sense  can  urge, — repents  bitterly  of  sending  Leo  away. 
The  more  other  men  approach  her  with  admiration  and  love, 
the  more  she  feels  drawn  towards  the  young  fellow  who  had 
given  her  his  first,  freshest,  sincerest  love.  After  the  pleading 
of  his  impassioned  voice,  the  love-making  of  other  men  seems 
stereotyped  and  unnatural.  Lord  Threestars,  laying  aside  his 
habitual  languor,  had  been  very  much  in  earnest  in  his  wooing, 
but  Olga,  who  liked  him  as  a  friend,  was  utterly  unmoved  to 
any  warmer  feeling  for  him.  For  Leo  she  has  that  feeling 
of  protection  that  a  woman  invariably  has  for  a  man  younger 


MIONON.  353 

than  herself,  and  which  in  no  way  detracts  from  his  lordship 
over  her  heart,  nor  lessens  his  dignity  in  her  eyes. 

Olga  is  not  of  a  sanguine  disposition  :  she  is  perhaps  more 
prone  to  take  the  pessimist's  than  the  optimist's  view  of  life. 
She  tells  herself  that  Leo  will  come  back  cured  of  his  love  for 
her ;  he  may  have  sworn  allegiance  to  a  new  mistress  ;  politics, 
ideas  that  she  has  given  him,  may  rival  her ;  or  perhaps,  she 
thinks  with  a  jealous  pang  (American  women  are  very  hand- 
some and  fascinating),  perhaps  some  younger,  fairer  woman 
than  herself  may  console  him  for  the  love  that  gave  him  so 
much  pain.  And,  now  that  it  is  too  late,  she  tells  herself  how 
much  her  money  and  influence  might  have  helped  him  ;  how 
she  might  have  pushed  him  forward  to  a  brilliant  and  useful 
future.  He  had  written  to  her  in  answer  to  her  letter,  but 
he  made  no  allusion  to  the  old  love,  and  she  chose  to  think  it 
was  because  he  was  forgetting  it. 

"  If  he  ever  comes  back  !  if  he  still  cares  for  me  !"  she  says 
to  herself;  but  she  finishes  the  sentence  with  a  sigh  only. 

To  return  to  Mignon.  If  one  believed  in  a  system  of  rewards 
and  punishments  for  our  actions  in  this  life,  one  might  wonder 
what  iniquities  this  poor  child  had  committed  to  draw  down 
upon  herself  so  awful  a  retribution.  Her  little  selfishnesses, 
her  love  of  pleasure,  her  comparative  carelessness  for  the  feel- 
ings of  others,  which  were  after  all  very  much  the  result  of  an 
injudicious  spoiling,  were  surely  not  enough  to  call  forth  such 
a  visitation.  Every  day  makes  her  more  keenly  alive  to  her 
misery, — every  day  that  improves  her  bodily  health  and  helps 
her  system  to  rally  from  the  shock  it  has  received.  She  has 
banished  all  the  mirrors ;  she  will  not  permit  a  servant  to  come 
near  her ;  she  says  daily  to  her  husband,  unconvinced  by  his 
unceasing  devotion,  "  You  do  not  really  care  for  me :  it  is 
only  pity."  And  to  all  his  lavish  tenderness  and  endearments 
she  only  says,  with  a  touch  of  her  old  scornful  mirth,  "  You 
are  a  wonderful  actor,  you  do  it  most  naturally,  but  there  is 
nothing  to  love  in  me  now."  And  always  when  she  says  this 
she  falls  to  bitter  weeping.  Once  now  arid  then  she  is  touched 
by  his  goodness,  and  says,  taking  his  hand, — 

"  How  good  you  are  to  me  !  I  have  not  deserved  it.  I  did 
not  go  to  you  in  London  when  you  sprained  your  ankle.  And 
you  have  never  once  left  me  all  these  months.  Do,  do  go 
and  have  a  holiday,  and"  (her  voice  quivering)  "go  to  Lon- 

30* 


354  MIGNON. 

don  and  see  some  pretty  faces,  and  try  to  think  I  am  only  a 
dreadful  nightmare." 

"My  darling,"  cries  Sir  Tristram,  grieved  to  the  heart,  "do 
not  say  these  things.  How  shall  I  make  you  believe  that  you 
are  as  dear  to  me,  nay,  dearer  than  you  ever  were?  Shall  I 
go  and  get  my  mother's  Bible  and  swear  upon  it  ?  You  know 
I  would  not  lie  upon  that." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answers,  captiously :  "  there  are  some 
lies  more  holy  than  truth,  and  you  might  think  that  one. 
Come"  (smiling  a  little),  "  sit  on  this  side  of  me,"  pointing  to 
her  right  side,  "  and  look  only  at  my  profile,  and  try  to  think 
both  sides  are  alike." 

He  humors  her  whim,  and  sits  down  as  she  bids  him,  and 
looks  tenderly  at  the  profile  that  is  as  lovely  as  ever. 

"  I  will  have  a  mask  made  for  the  other  side,"  she  says, 
trying  to  smile,  but  ending  in  tears. 

By  dint  of  much  persuasion  she  has  been  induced  at  last, 
chiefly  by  Olga's  efforts,  to  drive  out.  She  is  covered  with 
a  thick  veil ;  the  coachman  and  footman  are  emphatically  for- 
bidden even  to  look  in  her  direction ;  the  woman  at  the  lodge, 
the  people  about,  are  all  warned  not  to  salute  nor  seem  to  see 
her.  She  always  carries  a  large  parasol,  and  the  companion 
of  her  drive  has  orders  to  warn  her  of  the  approach  of  any 
one,  that  she  may  hide  her  face.  So  morbidly  sensitive  is  she 
about  her  altered  looks,  she  will  not  permit  either  her  father 
or  mother  to  come  to  her.  After  a  time  she  begins  to  study 
with  much  interest  how  the  ravages  of  her  beauty  may  best 
be  repaired.  She  will  go  to  London  and  have  the  four  miss- 
ing teeth  replaced ;  she  will  see  the  most  skilful  surgeons,  and 
they  will  surely  be  able  to  alter  the  drawing  down  of  the  flesh 
from  the  eye,  the  caught-up  lip,  which  is  now  her  greatest  dis- 
figurement. She  is  full  of  this  one  day  when  Olga  comes  to 
see  her. 

"  I  know  I  can  never  be  beautiful  again,"  she  says,  in  a  pa- 
thetic voice.  "  I  don't  expect  or  hope  for  it :  all  I  want  is  that 
people  may  not  shudder  when  they  see  me.  Oh  !"  she  cries, 
bursting  into  bitter  tears,  "  what  did  I  ever  do  to  deserve  this  ? 
— how  can  people  say  God  is  good  or  just  ?" 

Olga's  only  answer  is  to  lay  the  poor  head  against  her  tender 
breast,  and  kiss  the  golden  hair. 

"  It  is  hard,  darling,"  she  whispers,  presently.     She  is  not 


MIGNON.  355 

of  those  who  have  ever  ready  at  their  lips  texts  of  Scripture 
appropriate  to  condemn  the  repining  of  the  stricken  at  heart : 
the  words  of  Job's  reproach  to  his  officious  friends  could  never 
have  been  applied  to  her : 

"  I  also  could  speak  as  ye  do,  if  your  soul  were  in  my  soul's 
stead.     I  could  heap  up  words  against  you,  and  shake  mine 
head  at  you." 
Rather  these : 

"  But  I  would  strengthen  you  with  my  mouth,  and  the 
moving  of  my  lips  should  have  assuaged  your  grief." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  says  Mignon,  presently,  with  a  gesture 
of  despair.  "  The  women  in  books,  when  they  lose  their 
beauty,  turn  religious,  and  go  about  and  visit  the  sick.  But" 
(with  a  little  shudder)  "  I  cannot.  I  do  not  like  the  thought 
of  it  any  more  than  I  ever  did.  Misfortune  hasn't  turned  me 
good  :  I  think  I  am  more  wicked.  I  never  used  to  feel  so 
bitter  and  spiteful  as  I  do  now.  I  wish  I  were  a  Roman 
Catholic  !  I  would  go  into  a  convent." 

Olga  takes  her  hand,  and  looks  at  her  with  humid  eyes. 
"  My  dear,"  she  says,  gently,  "  there  is  work  for  you  to  do 
in  the  world, — better  work  than  you  could  do  by  shutting  your- 
self away  from  it.     You  have  a  great  deal  in  your  power." 

"  No,"  cries  Mignon,  sharply  j  "  I  have  not.  I  have 
nothing." 

"  Yes,  you  have.  First  of  all,  you  can  make  your  husband 
very  happy.  You  know  he  loves  you  with  all  his  heart ;  you 
know,  although  you  feign  not  to  believe  it,  that  he  loves  you 
as  dearly  as  In  your  most  beautiful  days, — more,  because  you 
have  need  of  him,  and  a  real,  true,  noble  love  is  not  altered  by 
circumstances  that  would  destroy  an  ignoble  one." 

"  Like  Raymond's  !"  breaks  in  Mignon,  passionately.  "  Oh, 
I  did  not  think  he  could  have  been  so  base  and  cruel !  I  never 
cared  for  him"  (vehemently).  "  I  never  pretended  to.  I 
always  laughed  at  his  protestations  of  devotion,  and  made  fun 
of  them,  but  I  did  not  think  he  could  have  treated  me  so.  If 
he  had  been  unhappy  about  me,  if  he  had  stayed  to  see  whether 
I  lived  or  died,  if  he  had  sent  some  message  to  me,  shown  some 
sorrow  or  pity  for  me,  I  could  have  forgiven  him  ;  but  to  leave 
me  so !  oh,  I  hate  him !  When  I  think  of  him,  I  long  for 

revenge,  I  long  to  hear  of  him  in  pain  or  misery,  I ' 

"Hush,  my  dear,"  says  Olga,  softly.     "Shall  I  tell  you 


356  MIONON. 

what  to  do  when  these  bitter  thoughts  come  to  you?  Re- 
member, not  that  you  have  lost  an  unworthy  love,  but  that 
you  have  always  with  you  a  pure,  perfect  one,  a  life  bound  up 
in  yours,  which  thinks  itself  amply  repaid  by  a  little  love,  a 
little  tenderness,  from  you.  You  need  go  no  further  afield  to 
do  good  than  your  own  home.  Try  to  make  your  husband 
happy,  and  you  can  do  it  so  easily  by  a  few  smiles,  a  tender  word 
now  and  then,  and  when  you  are  better  and  able  to  think  of 
other  duties,  try  to  find  some  one  who  is  miserable  and  in  want, 
whom  a  little  help  from  you  can  perhaps  make  happy.  You 
can't  think  what  a  cure  for  misery  it  is  to' relieve  the  pain  of 
others." 

Mignon  looks  at  her  attentively. 

"  How  good  you  are !"  she  says,  remorsefully.  "  And  I 
used  to  hate  you  so  !" 

"  At  all  events,  you  do  not  hate  me  now,"  answers  Olga, 
with  a  bright  smile. 

"  I  love  you  !"  cries  Mignon,  throwing  her  arms  round  her. 
"  I  think  I  love  you  almost  better  than  any  one  except  Gerry. 
And"  (looking  intently  at  her)  "  I  used  to  say  you  were  not 
pretty.  I  used  to  say  I  wondered  what  men  saw  to  admire  in 
you.  I  can  see  it  now.  It  was  only  my  spite  and  jealousy. 
T  remember  saying  to  that  nice-looking,  fair  young  fellow, 
Raymond's  friend,  I  forget  his  name,  that  you  were  old  and 
passee,  and  he  turned  upon  me  so  angrily  and  said  you  were 
his  idea  of  a  perfect  woman  in  every  way.  Why  do  you 
blush  ?  I  hated  him  for  saying  it  then,  but  now  I  agree  with 
him." 

The  rosy  flush  spreads  to  Olga's  throat  and  neck :  she  is 
conscious  of  a  thrill  of  keen  pleasure. 

"  I  do  want  to  be  good,"  says  Mignon,  earnestly.  "  I  know 
I  never  shall  be ;  but  if  you  talk  to  me  often,  it  will  put  me 
in  mind  of  it.  I  never  wanted  to  be  good  before  :  one  must 
be  something"  (with  unconscious  pathos),  "  and  if  one  cannot 
be  beautiful,  one  ought  to  be  good." 


MIGNON.  357 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

"For  there  is  more,  I  thought,  in  man  and  higher 
Than  animal  graces,  cunningly  combined, 
Since  oft  within  the  unlovely  frame  is  set 
The  shining,  blameless  soul." 

Songs  of  Two  Worlds. 

HAVING  resolved  to  go  to  London  to  obtain  the  best  advice 
how  to  repair  the  ravages  of  her  beauty,  Mignon  is  feverishly 
anxious  to  be  off  at  once.  But,  as  she  hates  the  thought  of 
the  publicity  of  a  hotel,  Olga  proposes  that  she  shall  spend  a 
week  with  her  in  Curzon  Street,  while  Sir  Tristram  looks 
about  for  a  house.  It  is  to  be  quite  a  small  one,  Mignon 
insists,  and  no  visitor  is  to  set  foot  in  it.  No  one  is  to  know 
they  are  in  town ;  no  civilities  are  to  be  exchanged  with  any 
one :  even  Olga  has  to  promise  faithfully  that  her  guest  shall 
see  and  be  seen  by  no  one.  Indeed,  she  promises  more  than 
is  asked  of  her,  for  she  promises  to  devote  herself  entirely  and 
unreservedly  to  Mignon  during  the  time  that  she  is  under  her 
roof.  Even  Mrs.  Forsyth  is  to  be  left  behind, — an  arrange- 
ment in  which  she  choerfully  acquiesces,  though  with  secret 
displeasure. 

And  we  know  enough  of  Olga  to  be  quite  sure  that  she  car- 
ries out  her  promise  to  the  letter.  Her  boudoir  is  devoted  to 
Lady  Bergholt's  sole  use ;  no  one  is  permitted  to  enter  it ;  they 
drive  there  in  the  evening,  waited  upon  by  Truscott,  to  whom 
Mignon  does  not  object.  He  has  sufficient  delicacy,  even  with- 
out Mrs.  Stratheden's  hint,  never  to  let  his  glance  fall  upon  her 
ladyship's  face.  He  so  far  renounces  his  dignity  as  to  take  the 
footman's  place  on  the  box  of  the  brougham  when  his  mistress 
succeeds  in  persuading  Mignon  to  drive  out,  thickly  veiled  and 
concealed  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  to  watch  the  gay  world  in 
which  she  took  so  prominent  a  part  this  time  last  year.  The 
poor  child  suffers  at  the  sight,  but  it  is  a  relief  from  the 
ennui  which  is  beginning  to  afflict  her  now  that  her  apathy  is 
wearing  off. 

Olga  reads  to  her,  sings  to  her,  talks  to  her,  mesmerizes  her, 


358  MIONON. 

devotes  herself  perfectly  and  entirely  to  her  for  the  week  they 
are  together,  and  Mignon's  moods  become  softer,  less  petulant. 
Her  manner  to  Sir  Tristram  is  more  gentle,  more  affectionate, 
than  it  has  ever  been.  He  is,  in  truth,  far  happier  than  he  was 
twelve  months  ago,  and  he  wears  this  crushed  flower  more 
tenderly  and  fondly  in  his  breast  than  the  proud,  strong-stemmed 
lily  of  last  year. 

Sir  Tristram  finds  a  house  very  near  Olga's,  much  to  his 
wife's  satisfaction,  and  Olga  superintends  the  arrangement  of 
it,  half  fills  it  with  flowers,  transfers  many  delicate  knick- 
knacks  that  can  be  well  spared  from  her  own  house,  and  by  a 
few  artistic  touches  makes  it  look  charming  before  Mignon 
enters  it.  She  has  not  forgotten  a  careful  shading  of  light 
which  she  knows  will  be  grateful  to  the  poor  beauty  who  a 
little  while  ago  could  bear  unblushing  the  keenest  gaze  of  an 
inquisitive  sun.  Olga  has  to  promise  that  she  will  very,  very 
often  come  and  see  her  poor  friend,  who  cries  when  she  leaves 
her  for  the  first  time. 

Poor  Mignon  !  day  by  day  the  trial  seems  more  bitter  to  her: 
sometimes  she  feels  it  is  more  than  she  can  bear :  in  the  night, 
wild  thoughts  come  to  her  of  shaking  off  a  life  that  has  become 
intolerable.  From  behind  her  blind  she  sees  gay  carriages  roll 
by  with  well-dressed,  happy  women  in  them  (they  must  be 
happy,  she  argues  :  every  woman  must  be  happy  who  can  show 
an  unscarred  face  to  the  world).  She  no  longer  cares  for  dress : 
of  what  use  are  fine  clothes  to  her,  now  that  there  is  only  her- 
self to  see  them  ?  I  suppose  there  are  very  few  wives  (even 
affectionate  ones)  who  think  it  worth  while  to  dress  for  their 
husbands.  Perhaps,  as  a  pendant  to  that  remark,  I  might  add, 
I  suppose  there  are  very  few  husbands  (even  affectionate  ones) 
who  know  the  color  or  material  of  their  wife's  gown.  Sir 
Tristram  tries  to  tempt  her  to  take  an  interest  in  her  toilette : 
he  orders  costly  and  elegant  apparel  to  be  sent  for  her  inspec- 
tion, but  she  generally  rejects  them  with  a  pettish  shake 
of  the  head.  One  day  a  handsome  black  costume  comes  for 
her  approbation.  Suddenly  a  remark  of  Olga's  about  giving 
pleasure  to  others  enters  her  mind.  "  I  will  keep  it,"  she  says, 
blushing  a  little.  "  I  think  Regina  would  like  it." 

This  is  Mignon's  first  step  towards  a  thought  for  others ; 
and  she  feels  so  pleased  with  herself  that  she  is  tempted  to 
repeat  her  kind  action.  Sir  Tristram  is  perfectly  delighted ; 


MIGNON.  359 

he  turns  aside,  that  she  may  not  see  a  treacherous  dimness  in 
his  eyes. 

Every  evening  he  reads  to  her :  she  likes  it  because  it  gener- 
ally sends  her  to  sleep,  and  she  has  the  capacity  for  sleep  that 
most  healthy  young  people  possess.  The  only  recreation  he 
permits  himself  is  afternoon  whist  at  his  club.  Mignon  does 
not  like  him.  to  drive  with  her,  as  she  fears  his  being  recog- 
nized. 

She  is  getting  very  weary  of  seeing  no  one.  One  day  she  sur- 
prises her  husband  by  saying,  "  Mr  Conyngham  may  come  and 
see  me.  No  doubt"  (with  a  touch  of  the  old  scornful  manner) 
"  it  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  him.  And  when  be  comes  I 
will  see  him  alone." 

Fred  loses  no  time  in  obeying  the  summons.  His  heart  is 
a  very  kind  one  at  the  core,  in  spite  of  all  the  hard  things  he 
loves  to  say,  and  his  pleasure  in  depreciating  human  nature. 
It  is  so  kind,  really,  that  his  other  self  is  very  often  much 
ashamed  of  and  very  much  inconvenienced  by  it.  I  think 
no  one  out  of  her  own  family  has  been  more  thoroughly 
grieved  or  sorry  for  Mignon  than  he :  many  a  time  has  he 
thought  over  hard  words  spoken  to  her  in  his  anger  at  her  tri- 
umphant consciousness  of  her  beauty,  and  heartily  wished 
them  unspoken. 

Her  misfortune  has  taken  the  sting  for  her  out  of  him  now. 
She  may  be  as  petulant,  as  wayward,  as  she  will,  she  shall  wring 
no  sharp  retort  from  his  lips  again  forever. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  it  has  sweetened  her  temper,  poor  soul!" 
he  says  to  himself,  as  he  goes  up  the  stairs.  "  She  is  not  the 
sort  of  woman  to  be  softened  by  trouble,  or  I  am  very  much 
mistaken." 

Sir  Tristram  opens  the  door,  and  he  goes  in  alone,  goes 
straight  towards  her,  and  takes  both  her  hands  in  his.  He 
cannot  quite  trust  his  voice :  there  is  an  unwonted  huskiness 
in  his  throat.  But  she  does  not  give  him  time  to  speak. 

"  Well,"  she  says,  raising  her  eyes  unblenchingly  to  his,  and 
speaking  in  the  rather  shrill  key  he  has  been  accustomed  to 
when  she  was  excited  in  controversy,  "  are  you  not  glad  ?  are 
you  not  delighted  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  he  answers,  in  a  voice  quite  strange  to  her  ears, 
it  is  so  quiet  and  solemn,  "  what  do  you  take  me  for.  Believe 
rne,  there  is  no  one  else  who  has  felt  and  feels  more  deeply  for 


360  MTGXON. 

you  than  I.  I  am  glad  you  sent  for  me.  I  have  been  long- 
ing to  come  to  you  ever  since  I  knew  you  were  in  town,  to 
ask  you  to  forgive  me  for  many  unkind  and  bearish  words  I 
have  upon  my  conscience.  We  shall  be  the  beet  of  friends  in 
future,  I  hope,  my  dear."  And  he  gives  the  hands  he  has  riot 
yet  relinquished  a  hearty  squeeze,  and  sits  down  beside  her  on 
the  still  beautiful  side  of  her  face. 

"  Ah,"  she  says,  in  a  voice  quivering  from  nervous  excitement, 
and  with  a  short,  forced  laugh,  "  you  will  not  have  occasion  to 
give  me  any  more  good  advice  now.  You  won't  have  to  warn 
me  any  more,  or  to  tell  me  stories  about  women  who  have 
spoiled  their  lives, — not  in  that  way,  at  least.  No  one  is 
likely  to  want  to  run  away  with  me  now :  are  they?" 

Her  voice  trembles  between  tears  and  laughter.  She  is 
growing  hysterical. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Fred  answers,  stoutly.  "  I  don't  see  so 
very  much  amiss.  But,  all  the  same,  I  hope  no  one  will  want 
to  run  away  with  you,  or  you  with  them,  because  I  trust  you 
have  found  out  what  a  good  fellow  Tristram  is,  and  how  much 
more  such  love  as  his  is  worth  having  than " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know, — I  know,"  she  interrupts  him,  wearily. 
"  He  is  very  good."  Then  changing  her  tone,  and  speaking 
almost  penitently,  she  says,  with  emphasis,  "Yes,  indeed  he  is 
very,  very  good  !" 

Fred  stays  a  long  time  with  Mignon.  He  exerts  himself  to 
the  utmost  to  amuse  her,  and  when  he  is  going  she  says,  with 
frank  simplicity, — 

"  I  did  not  think  you  could  be  so  nice.  Come  again,  won't 
you?" 

"  That  I  will,  as  often  as  you  like.  But  I  have  something 
else  to  propose.  Come  and  see  me." 

Mignon  shakes  her  head. 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  child  1"  he  says,  "  you  cannot  shut 
yourself  up  forever.  Now,  listen  to  my  proposal.  Come  to- 
morrow at  five :  you  shall  see  no  one,  I  promise.  You  can 
amuse  yourself  by  looking  out  of  my  window,  which,  as  you 
know,  has  a  very  cheerful  prospect.  At  half-past  six  we  will 
dine.  I  know  your  favorite  dishes"  (smiling),  "  and  after- 
wards WG  will  have  a  box  at  the  theatre.  There  is  a  piece  at 
the  Strand  that  will  make  you  die  of  laughing.  You  can  put 
on  a  mantilla,  and  sit  behind  the  curtain,  unless  you  like  to 


MTGNON.  361 

turn  your  beautiful  side  outwards  and  have  every  one  staring 
at  you." 

It  takes  a  long  time  to  get  Mignon's  consent  to  Fred's  pro- 
posal^  but  ultimately  all  her  scruples  are  overcome  :  she  goes, 
and  enjoys  her  evening  thoroughly.  As  for  Fred,  to  see  his 
tenderness  and  care  of  her,  you  would  be  divided,  if  you  did 
not  know  the  party,  between  surmises  as  to  whether  he  was  a 
doting  father  or  an  infatuated  lover.  Mignon  has  a  return  of 
her  old  high  spirits. 

"  You  must  not  be  too  fascinating,"  she  whispers  to  him, 
laughing,  "  or  you  will  have  to  warn  me  against  yourself  next 
time.  Why  were  you  never  like  this  before  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  think  you  ever  gave  me  the  chance,"  he 
answers.  "  I  am  sure  I  never  thought  you  half  so  charming 
before." 

"  In  spite  of  my  ugliness?"  she  says,  growing  sad. 

"  You  are  not  ugly,"  cries  Fred  :  "  nothing  can  make  you 
that.  And  believe  me,  my  dear,  that  a  gracious  manner,  and 
the  charm  of  mind,  are  better  in  the  long  run  than  mere 
beauty ;  for,  though  beauty  may  win  love  more  easily,  these, 
when  they  have  won  it,  keep  it." 

After  this  Mignon  is  often  persuaded  to  go  to  the  theatre, 
and,  becoming  less  shy  of  being  seen,  she  drives  every  even- 
ing in  an  open  carriage,  starting  just  at  the  time  that  every 
one  else  is  coming  home.  She  swears  by  Fred  now :  she  can 
do  nothing  without  him.  Sometimes  she  has  fits  of  the 
old  imperious  petulance,  but  do  what  she  will,  she  can  never 
provoke  a  sharp  retort  or  a  cutting  word  from  him.  And  in 
time  she  leaves  off  trying. 

It  is  settled  that  in  July  they  are  to  go  a  parti  carri  to 
Switzerland  and  the  Rhine, — Sir  Tristram  and  Mignon,  Fred 
and  Mary. 

"  And  if  you  dare  to  fall  in  love  with  Mary,  or  pay  her 
more  attention  than  me,"  says  Mignon,  half  laughing,  half 
jealous,  "  I  shall  send  her  home."  For,  to  tell  the  truth, 
there  are  symptoms  that  Fred  is  beginning  to  discover  in 
Miss  Carlyle  many  of  the  attributes  of  the  model  woman  of 
whom  he  discoursed  to  Sir  Tristram  on  our  first  acquaintance 
with  him. 

"  She  has  the  grace  of  manner  and  the  charm  of  mind,  I 
suppose,"  says  Mignon,  teasingly. 
Q  31 


362  MIGNON. 

"  And  she  is  quite  pretty  enough  for  anything,"  cries  Fred, 
warmly. 

"  You  are  a  faithless  monster,"  pouts  Million  ;  "  and  I  will 
never  please  you  by  saying  I  love  your  dear  old  ugly  face 
again." 

"  But  if  I  can't  have  you  for  a  wife,  why  may  I  not  love 
you  as  a  sister?"  says  Fred,  half  grave,  half  laughing. 

Mignon,  whose  nature  craves  excitement,  finds  the  nearest 
approach  to  it  in  travelling.  She  has  always  loved  open  air, 
sunshine,  and  movement,  and,  now  that  she  can  no  longer  en- 
joy the  aliment  of  men's  flattery  and  admiration,  she  is  be- 
ginning to  find  beauties  in  nature  which  she  never  before 
suspected.  Formerly  her  first  idea  had  always  been  to  poser 
as  an  object  of  attraction  herself;  now,  in  her  almost  morbid 
self-consciousness,  she  desires  most  eagerly  to  remain  unseen, 
unnoticed,  and  wishes  to  find  gratification  for  her  own  senses. 
And  travelling  with  two  such  intelligent  companions  as  Sir 
Tristram  and  Fred  could  only  fail  to  be  agreeable  and  instruc- 
tive to  the  dullest,  most  unreceptive  of  persons.  That  Mignon 
never  was.  She  loved  vanity  and  frivolity,  it  is  true,  but  she 
was  always  capable  of  better  things,  only  the  bent  of  her  in- 
clinations did  not  lead  her  towards  mental  improvement.  Here, 
abroad,  where  she  rarely  meets  any  one  she  ever  saw  or  heard 
of,  she  is  less  sensitive  about  being  seen,  and,  sheltered  by  her 
parasol,  and  a  veil  that  she  can  drop  at  will,  she  abandons 
herself  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  fine  weather  and  the  delicious 
air,  and  recovers  a  great  measure  of  her  natural  high  spirits. 
She  is  capricious  and  petulant  at  times,  says  rude  things,  is 
hard  to  please,  but  still  it  is  patent  to  them  all  that  she  does 
make  occasional  efforts  at  self-conquest,  such  as  she  never 
dreamed  of  in  the  palmy  triumphant  days  of  her  loveliness. 
She  is  touchingly  conscious  of  her  loss  of  the  prerogative  she 
imagines  beauty  gives  a  woman  to  ride  rough-shod  over  the 
rest  of  the  world.  The  only  reproof  Fred  ever  gives  to  her 
sharp  petulance  is  a  smiling  shake  of  the  head,  and  the  two 
sentences,  spoken  half  in  jest, — 

"  The  grace  of  manner  and  the  charm  of  mind." 

"  I  shall  never  have  them,"  cries  Mignon.  "  I  never  had 
anything  but  my  beauty ;  and  now  that  is  gone,  I  shall  drop 
into  a  soured  ugly  wretch,  whom  no  one  cares  for." 

"  You  won't  do  anything  of  the  sort,  my  dear,"  answers 


MIGNON.  363 

Fred,  kindly.  "  Why,  you  are  so  improved  already  I  hardly 
know  you, — not  at  all  like  the  Mignon  of  last  year,  whom  I 
used  to  bully  so  shamefully  and  rudely." 

"But  what  has  improved  you?"  asks  Mignon.  "You1' 
(laughing  ruefully)  "  have  not  lost  any  of  your  beauty,  and 
from  being  the  Grossest  old  stick  in  the  world  you  have  become 
as  good-natured  as — as " 

"  Don't  try  to  find  a  simile,"  laughs  Fred.  "  The  effort  is 
rarely  successful." 

Gradually,  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees,  Mignon's  man- 
ner to  her  husband  is  undergoing  a  change.  True,  she  is 
more  pettish,  more  capricious,  more  wilful  with  him  than  with 
any  one  else ;  but  that  is  usually  the  portion  of  the  one  who 
loves  the  best.  But  every  now  and  then,  used  as  she  is  to 
his  unfailing  care  and  though tfulness  for  her,  receiving  it  as 
she  does,  and  has  always  done,  as  a  simple  matter  of  course, 
she  is  struck  by  some  evidence  of  love  that  touches  even  her, 
and  the  dawn  of  gratitude  begins  to  break  for  the  first  time  in 
her  heart.  He  is  never  importunate,  never  puts  forth  any 
claim  to  her  thanks :  he  does  all,  thinks  of  all,  content  with 
love's  reward  of  knowing  it  has  done  its  utmost.  Sometimes, 
in  passing  him,  Mignon  will  lay  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
caressingly,  or  bestow  a  bird-like  kiss  on  the  top  of  his  head  ; 
sometimes  she  will  so  far  condescend  to  perch  for  a  moment  on 
his  knee,  with  her  pretty  side  turned  towards  him ;  and  once 
or  twice  she  has  been  touched  into  crying,  "  How  good  you 
are,  and  how  little  I  have  deserved  it !" 

So  that,  after  all,  one  may  hope  this  awful  blow  which  has 
fallen  upon  her  may  turn  out  to  be  a  "  blessing  in  disguise." 

Meantime,  a  quiet  matter-of-fact  kind  of  wooing  is  going  on 
between  the  other  couple.  Fred  has  dropped  his  biting  cyni- 
cisms on  the  marriage  state ;  has  left  off  lauding  the  comfort 
and  peace  of  bachelorhood :  he  begins  to  see  good  where  he  i 
had  declared  there  could  but  be  strife  and  misery  before.  He 
does  not  look  forward  with  any  satisfaction  to  his  return  to  those 
comfortable  chambers  in  Piccadilly :  a  well-organized  but  empty 
room,  the  hired  smiles  of  welcome  of  a  civil  servant,  do  not  offer 
him  that  sense  of  tranquil  bien^etre  they  have  been  wont  to 
do.  Unromantic  Fred  has  been  troubled  of  late  with  visions 
of  a  tender  woman's  greeting  smile,  of  kind,  soft  eyes  that  shall 
be  glad  of  him,  of  a  gentle  hand  to  smooth  the  creases  from 


364  MJQNON. 

his  world-worn  brow,  of  sweet  lips  ready  to  oppose  a  loving 
charity  to  his  sharp  cynical  utterances.  He  has  found  this 
bright  particular  star,  a  good  woman,  he  thinks, — one  who  is 
pious,  yet  not  narrow-minded,  charitable,  not  self-righteous, 
high-principled,  yet  sweetly  tolerant  of  the  short-comings  of 
others, — not  censorious,  not  selfish,  but  finding  her  pleasure  in 
yielding  her  own  will  and  comfort  to  that  of  others.  And  Mary, 
who  has  that  gentle  and  good  gift  of  discovering  virtue  behind 
however  thick  a  crust  the  possessor  elects  to  wall  it  in  with, 
has  found  much  to  admire  and  respect  in  Fred,  and  is  by  no 
means  averse  from  the  thought  of  spending  the  rest  of  her  pil- 
grimage in  his  company. 

So  it  happens  that  one  September  morning,  Fred  having 
quietly  but  persistently  overcome  every  one's  scruples  and  preju- 
dices (Mignon's  was  the  strongest),  he  and  Mary  are  quietly 
married  at  a  little  English  church  in  a  foreign  town.  After  a 
brief  honeymoon  they  return  to  Sir  Tristram  and  Lady  Berg- 
holt,  and  all  proceed  on  their  way  to  Italy. 

It  is  hard  upon  Sir  Tristram,  who,  heartily  sick  of  foreign 
travel,  has  looked  forward  so  keenly  to  the  pleasures  of  Eng- 
lish country  life,  to  be  dawdling  in  foreign  cities  that  he  knows 
by  heart,  instead  of  striding  through  stubble  and  turnips  after 
partridges,  or  shooting  his  coverts  on  crisp  autumn  days,  or 
cub-hunting,  or  riding  around  his  farms.  But  he  never  hints 
at  the  privation  it  is  to  him,  never  shows  symptoms  of  the 
weariness  he  feels,  and  Mignon,  whose  perceptive  faculties  are 
not  acute,  does  not  suspect  the  home-sickness  from  which  her 
husband  is  suffering.  For  her  own  part,  she  loathes  the  very 
name  of  Bergholt :  she  never  wants  to  return  there :  she  has 
not  forgiven  the  coldness  of  her  county  neighbors,  in  spite  of 
the  handsome  way  in  which,  after  her  accident,  they  allowed 
bygones  to  be  bygones,  and  vied  with  each  other  in  attention, 
inquiry,  and  sympathy.  Lady  Blankshire  wrote  quite  a  touch- 
ing letter  to  Sir  Tristram,  came  frequently  to  inquire  personally 
after  the  poor  sufferer,  and  regularly  three  times  a  week  the 
brilliant  Blankshire  livery  might  be  seen  traversing  the  road 
between  the  Castle  and  Bergholt  Court.  She  is  none  the  less 
"  an  old  cat"  in  Mignon's  eyes.  But  for  no  one  does  she  feel 
the  bitterness  that  Baymond  has  awakened  in  her  soul. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  one  day  to  Olga,  clasping  her  hands,  and 
speaking  with  suppressed  passion,  "  I  would  give  almost  every- 


MIONON.  365 

thing  I  have,  yrily  to  be  revenged  on  him !  If  I  could  only 
hear  that  he  was  ill,  or  hurt,  or  maimed,  that  he  had  lost  all 
his  money,  or  met  with  some  dreadful  misfortune,  I  think  I 
could  be  reconciled  to  my  own  fate.  When  I  think  that  he 
still  goes  about  the  world,  well  and  handsome,  telling  lies,  per- 
haps, to  other  women,  talking  of  his  romance,  his  poetry,  his 
sympathy,  his  power  of  sacrificing  his  life,  his  future,  for  one 
he  loved,  it  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  should  go  out  of  my  senses. 
I  never  thought"  (with  intense  passion)  "  that  I  could  hate 
any  one  as  I  hate  him !" 

"  Hush,  dear,"  said  Olga,  softly :  "  do  not  encourage  such 
thoughts.  Those  who  hate  are  always  miserable:  the  least 
satisfying  passion  in  the  world,  when  it  is  attained,  is  revenge." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"  New  life,  new  love,  to  suit  the  newer  day  : 
New  loves  are  sweet  as  those  that  went  before : 
Free  love,  free  field, — we  love  but  while  we  may." 

The  Last  Tournament. 

SIR  TRISTRAM,  who  always  loves  to  give  pleasure  to  others, 
has  lent  the  Bergholt  shooting  to  Mr.  Carlyle  and  Gerry,  with 
permission  to  ask  as  many  friends  as  they  please.  It  is  ex- 
tremely agreeable  to  Captain  Carlyle  to  be  in  a  position  to  offer 
so  handsome  a  return  to  men  who  have  shown  him  civilities 
in  his  less  palmy  days,  and  G-erry,  who  is  tremendously  pop- 
ular in  his  regiment,  is  not  a  little  proud  to  give  his  colonel 
some  unexceptionable  shooting  in  the  Bergholt  preserves,  and, 
later  on,  to  gather  together  a  few  congenial  spirits.  We  may 
be  quite  sure  that  he  takes  no  liberties,  and  does  not  encroach 
on  the  kindness  of  which  he  is  so  heartily  sensible. 

Fred  has  got  utterly  sick  of  foreign  travel,  and,  though  he 
has  borne  it  patiently  for  Mignon's  sake,  long  after  he  is  weary 
of  it,  Sir  Tristram  thinks  it  unfair  that  his  friend  shall  be  vic- 
timized beyond  reasonable  endurance.  He  has  prevailed  upon 
him  to  take  up  his  head-quarters  at  The  Warren  for  six  months, 
31* 


366  MIONON. 

until  he  and  Mrs.  Conyngham  shall  have  decided  upon  their 
future  abode ;  and  this  arrangement  has  been  very  gratifying 
both  to  Fred  and  his  wife.  The  former  looks  keenly  forward 
to  the  sport,  and  the  latter  to  being  near  her  mother,  who,  it 
is  evident,  sadly  misses  her. 

Regina  is  to  join  Lady  Bergholt  in  Paris  the  beginning 
of  the  year,  and,  meantime,  Sir  Tristram  and  his  wife  are 
going  up  the  Nile,  as  Mignon's  thirst  for  travel  remains  un- 
quenched.  Her  husband  is  consoled  by  the  thought  of  having 
her  all  to  himself:  he  has  become  so  necessary  to  her  now 
that  the  idea  of  his  constant  society  does  not  bore  her  as  it 
once  did. 

The  beginning  of  February  finds  them  back  in  Paris,  and 
finds  also  a  remarkable  improvement  in  Mignon's  appearance. 
She  is  less  sensitive  about  it,  too,  and  no  longer  objects  to  ap- 
pear in  public ;  but  she  has  a  great  dislike  to  being  very  near 
any  one,  especially  a  man.  From  a  short  distance  the  scars 
and  the  little  peculiarity  of  expression  which  her  accident  has 
given  her  are  hardly  noticeable  :  people  say  at  first,  seeing  her 
elegance,  her  perfect  tournure,  and  her  golden  hair,  "  What  a 
lovely  woman  !"  Then,  as  frequently,  they  correct  themselves 
and  say,  "  There  is  something  wrong  about  her  face.  What 
is  it?"  Mignon  is  acutely  conscious  of  this,  and  always  shades 
her  left  side  from  scrutiny  with  a  fan  or  parasol.  It  gives  her 
a  melancholy  satisfaction  sometimes,  when  she  is  driving,  to 
see  heads  turned  to  look  at  her  in  evident  admiration  as  in  the 
old  days  of  her  beauty ;  but  it  is  a  pleasure  alloyed  with  much 
pain.  She  has  resumed,  to  a  certain  degree,  her  taste  for 
dress,  and  never  spares  an  opportunity  of  making  herself  ap- 
pear to  the  best  advantage.  But  she  has  so  utterly  persuaded 
herself  that  she  can  never  again  inspire  love  or  be  pleasing  in 
the  eyes  of  men,  that  she  shrinks  instinctively  from  their  com- 
pany. There  is  a  certain  shyness  in  her  manner  that  many 
people  would  think  more  takimg  than  the  confidence  her  beauty 
wore  so  bravely  in  the  olden  days :  she  has  a  little  way  of  re- 
lying upon  her  husband  that  is  infinitely  sweet  to  him,  and 
gives  a  charm  she  is  unconscious  of  to  herself.  Hers  is  not  a 
nature  to  entertain  an  ardent  affection,  but  what  love  she  has 
she  is  growing  to  give  Sir  Tristram.  And  to  him  it  is  a  gift 
so  precious  and  unlooked-for  that  he  counts  all  sacrifices  made 
for  it  as  naught. 


MIGNON.  367 

One  evening  they  are  at  the  Opera  :  it  is  a  remnant  of  the 
poor  child's  vanity  to  turn  her  fair  side  to  the  audience, — a 
vanity  which,  though  unconfessed,  her  husband  is  perfectly 
conscious  of,  and  never  fails  to  gratify  by  taking  a  box  on  the 
left  of  the  stage. 

She  is  exquisitely  dressed  to-night,  as  always ;  her  lovely 
shoulders  are  bare,  and  one  beautiful  arm  rests  on  the  front 
of  the  box.  Nearly  every  glass  in  the  house  is  levelled  altern- 
ately at  her  and  another  woman  who  occupies  the  box  on  the 
other  side  that  immediately  corresponds  with  Lady  Bergholt's. 

Sir  Tristram,  who  is  too  much  of  an  Englishman  to  be 
pleased  for  a  lady  in  his  company  to  be  the  object  of  much 
attention  or  remark  from  his  own  sex,  might,  under  other 
circumstances,  be  ill  pleased  at  his  wife  placing  herself  so 
much  en  evidence;  but  he  has  no  heart  to  rob  her  of  what,  after 
all,  is  so  triste  a  pleasure. 

The  lady  who  shares  with  Mignon  the  general  attention  and 
approbation  is  strikingly  handsome, — on  a  larger  scale  than 
Lady  Bergholt,  also  perfectly  dressed,  and  having  an  air  that 
you  rarely  meet  with  except  in  a  Parisian.  In  the  box,  and 
opposite  to  her,  is  a  stout  man,  with  a  bald  head,  gray  mous- 
tache, a  ribbon  in  his  button-hole, — evidently  the  husband. 
He  does  not  occupy  himself  with  his  wife :  apparently  some 
one  else  is  doing  that,  by  the  smiles  and  charming  gestures 
Madame  turns  constantly  to  a  third  person  sitting  in  the  shade 
behind  her,  with  an  evident  desire  to  remain  unseen.  Mon- 
sieur looks  discreetly  at  the  stage,  at  the  house,  everywhere 
except  at  his  wife  ;  and  when  the  ballet  commences,  a  danseuse 
with  enormous  eyes,  magnified  by  unspared  paint,  with  black 
hair,  and  well-developed  muscles,  engrosses  his  whole  attention. 
She  wears  diamonds  of  considerable  value  in  her  ears  and  on 
her  breast,  and  she  is  exchanging  coquettish  glances  with  a 
gommeux  in  the  stalls.  This  seems  to  give  exceeding  dissatis- 
faction to  Monsieur,  who  grinds  his  teeth,  and  mutters  fre- 
quently a  word  that  seems  to  be  almost  entirely  composed 
of  r's. 

Mignon  has  watched  the  occupants  of  this  box  with  con- 
siderable interest :  she  is  devoured  by  an  insatiable  curiosity  to 
see  the  third  person,  to  whom  the  husband  pays  so  little  and 
the  wife  so  much  attention,  but  it  is  not  gratified.  She  has 
been  able  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  man's  hand  softly  pressing 


368  MIGNON. 

the  slim  hand  of  the  lady,  gloved  nearly  to  the  elbow,  but  the 
head  and  face  are  kept  rigidly,  with  evident  intention,  in  the 
shade.  Mignon,  looking  furtively  behind  her  fan,  is  conscious 
that  the  Frenchwoman  is  pointing  her  out,  and  expects  to  see 
her  companion  bend  forward ;  but  in  vain :  either  he  can  see 
her  where  he  sits,  or  he  does  not  care  to.  Mignon  is  piqued, 
— she  knows  not  why. 

Could  she  have  her  wish, — could  she  see  the  face  concealed 
behind  the  lady's  pearly  shoulders, — how  the  red  blood  would 
mantle  in  her  cheek  !  how  madly  her  heart  would  beat !  For 
the  handsome  head  bent  towards  Madame,  the  curved  lips 
through  which  such  tender  words  are  flowing,  belong  to  none 
other  than  Raymond  L'Estrange.  With  a  sudden  start,  an 
uncomfortable  pulsing  of  his  heart,  he  has,  almost  immediately 
on  entering  the  box,  recognized  the  woman  for  whom  he  had  once 
professed  himself  willing  to  hold  the  world  well  lost.  Instinct- 
ively he  shrinks  from  being  recognized  by  her,  half  because 
of  the  stinging  memory  of  his  neglect  of  her,  half  because 
he  would  not  have  her  wounded  by  the  sight  of  his  devotion 
to  the  woman  who  now  holds  in  his  heart  the  place  that  she 
once  held.  His  feelings  are  strangely  mixed  as  he  looks  at 
her.  She  has  been  the  fairest,  dearest  thing  in  life  to  him, 
she  has  been  an  object  of  horror  and  sickening  disgust,  now 
she  is — simply  nothing.  After  the  first  shock  of  surprise,  he 
can  contemplate  her  perfectly  unmoved.  How  often  does  his- 
tory repeat  itself  in  this  wise !  how  often  a  man  can  look  in 
after-days  with  perfect  impassiveness  upon  the  woman  who 
once  gave  the  zest  to  his  life,  the  warmth  to  his  sunshine,  the 
scent  to  his  roses,  who  was  to  him  the  essence  of  all  to  be  de- 
sired here,  to  be  hoped  for  hereafter. 

Raymond  can  even  wonder,  enthralled  as  he  is  by  the  fasci- 
nations of  the  woman  beside  him,  how  he  could  ever  have  been 
so  infatuated  with  Lady  Bergholt.  He  remembers  with  dis- 
gust how  sharply  she  was  wont  to  snub  him,  how  frankly  rude 
she  used  to  be,  how  cold,  how  ungracious,  how  indifferent. 

"  Pshaw  !  I  was  a  boy  !"  he  mutters  to  himself,  wishing  to 
console  his  vanity  for  having  made  so  gross  an  error.  "  If  I 
had  had  my  way,  where  on  earth  should  I  be  now  ?"  And 
he  comforts  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  is  with  a  charm- 
ing woman,  who  is  never  dull  nor  stupid  nor  ill-tempered,  who 
never  utters  a  word  that  can  ruffle  his  keen  sensibilities,  and 


MIGNON.  369 

who,  greatest  of  all  charms,  has  a  husband  who  is  not  in  the 
least  degree  jealous  or  afflicted  by  his  attentions  to  her. 

"  What  a  charming  head  !"  Raymond's  marquise  whispers 
to  him,  indicating  Lady  Bergholt  with  her  eyes.  "  One  of 
those  lovely  blonde  heads  that  one  only  sees  in  your  country- 
women." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  he  answers,  indifferently  ;  then,  in  a 
lower,  warmer  key,  "  In  my  eyes  there  'is  only  one  lovely  head, 
and  that  is  not  blonde." 

The  marquise  shows  her  pearly  teeth  in  a  gracious  smile. 

"  I  am  not  afflicted  with  jealousy,"  she  says.  "  It  is  not 
pain  to  me  to  hear  another  woman  praised.  Come,  confess 
she  is  charming, — a  perfect  face,  and  the  figure  of  a  Venus." 

"  You  have  only  seen  one  side,"  answers  Raymond,  in  a 
cold,  dry  voice.  For  the  life  of  him,  he  cannot  tell  what 
makes  him  say  it. 

"What?"  laughs  the  marquise;  "has  she  the  face  of  a 
Janus  ?  Does  she  smile  on  one  side  and  frown  on  the  other  ?" 

Raymond  feels  a  pang  of  shame  at  having  spoken  so  un- 
feelingly. 

"  She  was  very  lovely,"  he  says, — "  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful women  in  England.  She  met  with  an  accident  in  the 
hunting-field,  and  one  side  of  her  face,  I  am  told,  is  a  good 
deal  disfigured." 

"Ah  !"  murmurs  the  marquise,  with  an  accent  of  profound 
pity.  Merciless  as  men  love  to  say  women  are  towards  each 
other,  there  is  not  one,  I  think,  incapable  of  feeling  a  pang  for 
a  sister  who  has  lost  her  chief  weapon  in  the  fray  of  life. 
She  feels  as  a  man  might  towards  a  fellow  soldier  or  sports- 
man with  his  right  arm  disabled.  "  But,"  she  continues, 
watching  the  box  opposite  furtively  from  behind  the  shelter 
of  her  fan,  "  Are  you  quite  sure  it  is  the  same  ?  There  is 
some  one  evidently  for  whom  she  has  not  lost  her  charm, — 
some  one  to  whom  she  is  not  afraid  to  turn  her  disfigured  side; 
a  handsome  man,  too,  with  a  noble,  distinguished  air." 

"  Oh,"  returns  Raymond,  indifferently,  "  that  is  the  hus- 
band." 

"  Ah,"  says  the  marquise,  with  arched  eyebrows,  "  I  have 
'heard  wonderful  things  of  English  husbands." 

And  she  gives  a  little  envious  sigh,  and  lets  her  eyes  fall 
for  a  moment  upon  her  own  husband,  who  is  still  angrily 
Q* 


370  MIGNON. 

•watching  the  abnormally  large-eyed  danscuse.  A  little  sar- 
castic smile  curves  her  handsome  mouth  :  her  husband's  rival 
is  a  friend  of  her  own.  Then  she  turns  to  Raymond,  and 
says,  softly, — 

"  Tell  me,  my  friend,  is  it  that  you  English  are  by  nature 
more  faithful  than  Frenchmen,  or  that  your  women  know 
better  how  to  keep  your  hearts  than  we?" 

Raymond  gives  a  short  laugh. 

"  I  think  the  British  idol,  respectability,  has  the  most  to  do 
with  it.  But  you  do  not  meet  with  so  much  of  it  in  our 
higher  circles  now." 

"  Ah,"  says  the  marquise,  with  a  fine  smile  (if  one  may  so 
translate  the  expressive  Jin  sourire),  "  fidelity  is  a  vulgar  virtue. 
Tell  me"  (in  a  lower  key),  "  do  you  think  you  will  ever  be  one 
of  the  model  husbands?" 

"  No,"  answers  Raymond,  as  emphatically  as  though  he 
were  repudiating  the  possibility  of  infidelity  to  the  marquise, 
— "  never." 

"  Not  yet,"  she  says,  softly.  "  Ah,  mon  bel  enfant,  love  has 
not  yet  said  its  last  word  for  thee.  The  ballet  is  over.  Let 
us  go." 

Lady  Bergholt  observes  the  preparations  for  departure,  and 
resolves  to  leave  too, — her  desire  to  see  the  third  occupant  of  the 
opposite  box  having  steadily  increased  during  the  performance. 
Curiosity  has  always  been  fatal  to  Eve's  daughters,  and  Mig- 
non's  persistent  inquisitiveness  upon  this  occasion  is  only  one 
more  unneeded  verification  of  a  threadbare  fact. 

She  does  not  take  Sir  Tristram  into  her  confidence,  but 
simply  says, — 

"  I  am  tired,  dear.  Shall  we  go  ?"  And  he  at  once  leaves 
the  box  to  seek  his  servant. 

He  is  absent  some  two  or  three  minutes,  whilst  Mignon 
sees  with  impatience  that  the  objects  of  her  curiosity  have 
already  left  their  box. 

"  How  long  you  have  been  !"  she  cries,  with  a  touch  of  the 
old  petulance,  when  Sir  Tristram  returns. 

"  Have  I  ?"  he  answers,  surprised.  "  I  could  not  find  James 
at  first.  And  I  did  not  know  you  were  in  such  a  hurry." 

She  takes  his  arm  hastily,  and  almost  runs  in  her  eagerness 
to  get  to  the  door.  Raymond  has  just  put  the  marquise  into 
her  coupe",  and  is  returning  to  the  house.  He  comes  full  upon 


MIGNON.  371 

Sir  Tristram  and  Lady  Bcrgholt.  It  is  an  awkward  moment: 
he  cannot  possibly  avoid  them,  and  has  not  a  moment  for  re- 
flection. So  he  acts  upon  the  first  impulse,  which  is  to  take 
off  his  hat  and  advance,  smiling,  to  meet  them.  A  sudden, 
violent  anger  takes  possession  of  Mignon,  crimsons  her  cheeks, 
gives  her  a  supernatural  strength.  With  one  hand  she  draws 
the  mantilla  sharply  over  her  face,  with  the  other  she  drags 
Sir  Tristram,  who  is  stopping  to  speak  to  the  young  man, 
away.  There  is  no  mistaking  her  gesture,  and  Raymond, 
reddening  and  uncomfortable,  pursues  his  way,  whilst  Mignon 
stands,  palpitating,  trembling,  in  the  clear  frosty  air.  When 
the  carriage  comes,  she  throws  herself  into  a  corner  in  silence. 
Her  husband  does  not  speak  to  her :  he  sees  that  she  is  violently 
agitated,  and  thinks  it  kinder  to  leave  her  to  herself.  "  Poor 
soul !"  he  reflects,  "  it  is  natural  she  should  be  agitated  at  see- 
ing him  ;"  but  a  pang  crosses  his  breast  lest  her  anger  should  be 
after  all  but  an  impulse  of  wounded  love.  He  has  not  remarked 
the  flirtation  at  the  Opera  that  so  strongly  interested  Mignon  ; 
he  does  not  know  how  passionate  a  jealousy  hatred  as  well  as 
love  can  bear ;  he  does  not  dream  that  his  wife  is  smarting 
under  the  stinging  thought  that  life  and  love  still  lie  before 
the  man  who  has  been  cruel  and  treacherous  to  her, — that  his 
beauty  is  untarnished,  his  handsome  curved  lips  can  still  re- 
peat poetic  lies  in  other  women's  ears,  his  eyes  melt  to  the 
old  tenderness  for  beauty's  sake, — beauty  that  has  not  been 
scarred  and  maimed  through  his  fault.  For  she  is  unjust,  as 
women  are  apt  to  be,  and  says  to  herself  that  if  he  had  not 
encouraged  her  to  disobey  her  husband,  she  would  never  have 
gone  hunting  at  all. 

It  is  a  longish  drive  to  their  appartement  in  the  Avenue  du 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  but  Lady  Bergholt  does  not  recover  from 
her  agitation :  the  hand  Sir  Tristram  takes  to  help  her  alight 
is  feverish  and  trembles  violently.  He  follows  her  to  her  room, 
where  the  maid  is  waiting  for  her. 

"  You  need  not  stay,"  Sir  Tristram  says,  and  the  Abigail, 
though  she  looks  surprised,  goes  without  a  word.  A  well-bred 
man  servant  never  looks  surprised ;  the  more  events  astonish 
him,  the  more  marble  waxes  his  countenance ;  but  a  woman 
would  have  to  go  through  a  tremendous  amount  of  training 
before  she  could  be  taught  not  to  look  her  astonishment. 

Gently  Sir  Tristram  removes  Mignon's  shawl,  and  performs 


372  MIQNON. 

the  duties  he  has  imposed  upon  himself:  it  is  easy  to  see  he 
is  not  a  novice  at  it,  and  she  impassively  lets  him  do  as  he  will, 
not  seeming  to  notice  that  he  is  there  at  all.  But  suddenly, 
as  though  the  strain  had  been  too  great,  she  gives  way,  and, 
turning,  flings  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and,  laying  her  head 
upon  his  breast,  breaks  into  passionate,  uncontrollable  weeping. 
Thus  he  holds  her,  her  fair  head  pillowed  on  his  faithful  breast, 
his  strong  arms  binding  her,  and,  though  he  speaks  no  word, 
she  is  soothed,  feeling  in  the  strength  and  tenderness  of  his 
clasp  that  his  heart  is  her  shield  and  buckler  against  the  world, 
that,  though  there  be  false  and  cruel  men,  here  at  least  is  one 
whose  love  is  perfect,  whose  truth  is  as  steel,  and  through  all 
the  bitterness  she  grasps,  however  feebly,  the  truth  that  a 
lawful  and  pure  love  is  the  only  love  worthy  a  woman's 
having;. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

"  Says  she  not  well  ?  and  there  is  more — this  rhyme 
Is  like  the  fair  pearl  necklace  of  the  Queen, 
That  burst  in  dancing,  and  the  pearls  were  spilt, 
Some  lost,  some  stolen,  and  some  as  relics  kept. 
But  nevermore  the  same  two  sister  pearls 
Ran  down  the  silken  thread  to  kiss  each  other 
On  her  white  neck.     So  is  it  with  this  rhyme  ; 
It  lives  dispersedly  in  many  hands, 
And  every  minstrel  sings  it  differently ; 
Yet  is  there  one  true  line, — the  pearl  of  pearls, — 
Man  dreams  of  fame,  while  woman  wakes  to  love." 

TENNYSON. 

I  MUST  ask  the  long-suffering  reader,  who  has  gone  with 
me  thus  far,  to  let  me  again  take  the  novelist's  privilege,  of 
which  I  have  more  or  less  liberally  availed  myself  in  this  story, 
and,  putting  back  the  hands  of  the  clock,  return  once  more 
upon  my  steps.  Go  back  with  me,  then,  through  winter's 
crisp  frost  and  autumn's  decay  of  all  that  summer  made  ripe 
and  fair,  to  the  hot  bright  day  in  late  July,  when  Leo,  fresh 
from  his  travels,  comes  joyfully  back  to  the  home  of  his 
fathers.  He  may  have  seen  much  to  wonder  at,  much  to  ad- 


MIGNON.  373 

mire,  much  that  he  would  never  have  dreamed  of  if  he  had 
remained  in  England ;  his  mind  may  be  enlarged,  his  sym- 
pathies widened,  by  contact  with  men  of  other  nations,  lan- 
guages, and  habits ;  but  he  returns  with  his  love  and  faith  in 
his  own  country  increased  a  thousandfold,  as  every  Englishman 
worth  his  salt  always  does. 

If  you  had  seen  him  this  morning,  with  his  magnificent 
golden  beard,  you  would  hardly  have  recognized  him  ;  but 
now  that  he  is  shaved,  and  has  only  his  fair  moustache,  and 
enough  whisker  to  make  him  thoroughly  English,  he  is  very 
little  changed  from  the  Leo  of  last  year.  Perhaps  he  looks  two 
or  three  years  older  (he  looked  ten  with  his  beard)  :  there  are  a 
few  lines,  of  not  much  prominence,  that  thought  and  pain  of 
mind  have  graven  ;  he  is  a  trifle  broader,  more  muscular,  and 
much  more  self-possessed.  He  is  a  fine-looking  fellow,  and  I 
think  few  of  his  countrymen  would  take  exception  to  his 
being  pointed  out  as  a  good  representative  type  of  an  English- 
man. He  has  shaved  his  beard  in  deference  to  a  well-known 
prejudice  of  his  father's. 

"  I  like  to  see  a  man's  mouth  and  chin,"  Mr.  Vyner  senior 
is  wont  to  say  :  "  then  I  know  something  about  him.  If  a 
man  has  a  fool's  chin  and  knows  it,  or  bad  teeth,  I  don't  so 
much  blame  him ;  but  if  he  only  makes  himself  like  a  Skye 
terrier  because  he's  too  lazy  to  shave,  or  thinks  he  looks  pretty, 
I  object  entirely.  Besides,  it's  a  beastly,  dirty  habit.  Many 
a  time  I've  seen  a  man  at  dinner  making  himself  delightful  to 
a  woman  when  I've  read  in  her  eyes  that  she  was  longing  to 
tell  him  his  beard  was  full  of  crumbs  or  melted  butter." 

In  deference  to  his  father's  opinion,  then,  and  because  he 
wishes  to  convince  him  that  he  has  come  back  as  English  as 
he  started,  Leo  has  sacrificed  what,  in  the  eyes  of  many  mis- 
guided fair  ones,  would  have  been  his  greatest  ornament. 

Mr.  Vyner  is  patrolling  the  drive,  the  hall,  the  rooms,  with 
excited  expectation,  ready  to  swear  at  anybody  or  anything  on 
the  slightest  provocation.  He  never  knew  how  dear  that  boy 
of  his  was  until  he  had  lost  and  was  on  the  eve  of  finding  him 
again.  He  is  as  nervous  as  a  woman,  and  begins  to  think 
about  railway  accidents,  and  then  looks  at  his  watch  and  the 
hall  clock,  and  fumes  and  frets,  and  pishos  and  pshaws  at  him- 
self for  an  old  fool.  lie  comes  with  exasperation  upon  Hales, 
in  a  cap  flaunting  with  gay  ribbons,  lying  in  wait  behind  a 

32 


374  MIGNON. 

door,  and  he  sees  peeping  faces  that  he  would  heartily  like  to 
slap,  at  various  coigns  of  vantage. 

"  Can't  the  jades  let  me  have  him  to  myself  for  one  minute  ?" 
he  mutters,  angrily.  u  Women  never  have  any  decent  feeling: 
they  must  poke  their  d — d  inquisitive  noses  into  everything." 

Wheels  at  last.  He  rushes  to  the  door,  sees  in  the  distance 
two  figures,  and  beats  a  hasty  retreafe. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Leo  I  am  in  my  room,"  he  cries  to  the  butler. 

He  is  not  going  to  run  the  risk  of  making  a  fool  of  himself 
before  his  servants :  he  does  not  want  to  share  Leo  with  the 
butler  and  the  maids,  and  he  has  a  strange,  nervous  sensation  of 
choking  that  involves  a  good  deal  of  clearing  of  his  throat.  A 
minute  more,  and  the  cheery  ring  of  that  pleasant,  beloved 
voice  falls  on  his  expectant  ear. 

"  How  are  you,  Simpson  ?  how  are  you,  Hales  ?  Where  is 
my  father?" 

The  door  is  flung  open,  and  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  say 
in  the  confusion  and  excitement  what  happens  then.  A  minute 
later  Mr.  Vyner  is  still  shaking  Leo  by  both  hands,  and  there 
is  an  unwonted  moisture  in  both  men's  eyes,  and  an  uncertain 
quivering  about  the  muscles  of  their  mouths.  The  dogs  are 
leaping  upon  Leo,  clamoring  frantically  for  notice,  and  he  looks 
as  he  feels,  right  glad  of  his  home-coming  and  his  welcome. 
How  much  there  is  to  tell,  how  much  to  hear,  and,  as  is  always 
the  case,  how  few  words  either  can  find  at  first !  Presently 
Leo  is  allowed  five  minutes'  leave  of  absence  to  say,  "  How 
d'ye  do  ?"  to  Hales  and  the  butler,  to  give  cheery  words  and 
smiles  all  round,  and  tell  everybody  that  when  his  things  are 
unpacked  they  will  find  they  have  not  been  forgotten. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  says  Mr.  Vyner,  as  they  smoke  after- 
dinner  cigars  by  the  open  window,  "  I  suppose  I  need  not  tell 
you  how  glad  I  am  to  have  you  back." 

"  Not  more  glad  than  I  am  to  get  back,  sir,"  answers  Leo, 
heartily. 

"  You  look  twice  the  man  you  did  when  you  went  away," 
proceeds  Mr.  Vyner,  looking  with  undisguised  pride  at  his 
stalwart  son.  "  I  suppose,  after  all,  change  is  a  good  thing. 
And  you've  quite  got  over  your  hopeless  passion,  eh  ?  given 
up  crying  for  the  moon  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answers  Leo,  gravely. 

"  There  !"  cries  Mr.  Vyner,  triumphantly ;  "  did  I  not  tell 


MIQNON.  375 

you  when  you  were  going  about  this  time  last  year  with  your 
long,  miserable  face,  didn't  I  tell  you  that  you'd  forget  all  about 
it,  and  probably  be  very  thankful  you  didn't  have  your  own 
way?" 

"  It  isn't  that,  sir,"  says  Leo,  quietly.  "  It  is  not  that  the 
moon  is  any  less  desirable  or  beautiful  in  my  eyes,  only  that, 
like  the  child,  I  have  come  to  realize  how  far  off  it  is." 

"  Humph!"  says  his  father,  with  grim  jocularity;  "then 
you'll  have  to  be  content  with  one  of  the  lesser  planets,  I 
suppose  you  will  marry ;  though  heaven  knows  I  don't  want 
a  woman  here,  upsetting  the  place  and  filling  it  up  with  gim- 
cracks  and  trumpery." 

"  Make  your  mind  happy,  my  dear  father,"  laughs  Leo. 
"  I  do  not  think  my  wife  will  ever  give  you  much  trouble." 

So  it  may  be  seen  that,  if  Leo  has  not  altogether  overcome 
the  passion  that  has  been  so  fraught  with  pain,  he  has  at  least 
conquered  it  enough  to  go  about  the  world  with  a  cheerful 
face  and  a  mind  prepared  to  take  up  the  sterner  interests  of 
life.  It  is  at  the  close  of  this  session  that  Mr.  Gladstone  sur- 
prises the  country  by  giving  up  the  Premiership.  Mr.  Vivian 
takes  the  opportunity  of  retiring  from  Parliament,  giving  Leo 
all  his  influence  and  support.  Elections  and  runs  are  things 
that  have  been  described  so  often  and  so  well  that  I  will  not 
attempt  to  give  any  details  of  Leo's  canvassing,  but  content 
myself  by  saying  that,  after  encountering  sufficient  opposition 
to  give  zest  to  success,  Leo  is  returned  as  the  Conservative 
member.  He  is  thoroughly  popular,  and  the  manner  in  which 
he  acquits  himself  at  the  trying  time  draws  down  no  small 
meed  of  approbation  upon  him.  He  has  lost  the  mauvaise 
honte  that  oppressed  him  formerly,  and,  now  that  he  has 
travelled  and  studied  and  thought,  he  has  formed  opinions  of 
his  own  and  speaks  his  own  convictions,  not  random  words  put 
into  his  mouth  by  his  agents  to  give  him  a  temporary  popularity, 
and  uttered  without  consideration  as  to  whether  he  means  to 
stand  by  them.  Leo  is  not  extravagant  in  his  promises,  nor 
does  he  indulge  in  vague  and  flowery  rhetoric.  He  says  simply 
what  he  means  to  try  to  do,  and  what  he  thinks  is  right  and 
fair,  and  the  free  and  independent  electors  who  look  at  the 
frank  honesty  of  his  face,  and  who  catch  the  ring  of  truth  in 
his  firm,  quiet  voice,  make  up  their  minds  that  for  once  they 
have  got  the  right  man  in  the  right  place.  Mr.  Vyner's 


376  MIGNON. 

opinions  have  undergone  a  considerable  change.  The  reluc- 
tant disgust  with  which  he  formerly  contemplated  his  son's 
going  into  Parliament  has  given  way  to  unfeigned  pride  and 
pleasure:  he  has  been  with  Leo  through  all  the  canvassing, 
and  has  watched  him  with  an  astonished  pride  and  respect  that 
has  many  a  time  set  the  blood  glowing  in  his  veins.  He  can- 
not realize  that  this  self-possessed  man,  with  the  frank,  dis- 
tinguished bearing,  is  the  same  Leo  who  blushed  and  stammered 
out  his  thanks  so  lamely  at  his  coming  of  age.  He  even  says 
humbly  to  himself,  "  I  was  an  old  fool ;  and,  if  he  had  listened 
to  me,  I  should  have  missed  the  proudest  day  of  my  life." 

The  days  no  longer  hang  upon  Leo's  hands :  he  is  happy 
and  contented,  as  every  man  must  be  who  has  constant  and 
healthy  occupation  for  his  mind.  It  is  only  women  who  are 
compelled  to  sit  at  home  idle,  brooding  sadly  over  the  dark 
side  of  life,  and  the  happiness  that  might  have  been.  Trite 
may  be  the  saying,  "Work  is  the  universal  panacea,"  but 
there  is  no  truer  one  in  the  English  language.  Many  years 
ago  I  met  with  a  passage  in  a  book  that  took  considerable 
hold  of  my  mind.  I  believe  it  was  one  of  Mrs.  Graskell's, 
and  at  this  distance  of  time,  with  no  means  of  correcting  my- 
self by  reference  if  wrong,  I  will  not  vouch  for  giving  the 
exact  words.  But  these  are  near  enough :  "  Thinking  has 
often  made  me  very  unhappy :  acting  never  has.  Do  some- 
thing :  do  good  if  you  can, —  but  do  something !" 

Olga  is  suffering  terribly  from  her  enforced  idleness.  What 
can  a  rich  woman  not  rich  enough  to  be  a  public  benefactor, 
like  Lady  Burdett  Coutts,  but  a  woman  in  possession  of  a 
handsome  income,  with  no  ties,  no  pursuit  but  that  of  seeking 
her  own  amusement,  do  with  her  life  ?  Olga  does  give,  gen- 
erously, lavishly;  but  giving,  to  a  woman  in  her  position, 
generally  means  sitting  down  for  a  moment  before  her  escritoire 
and  tracing  a  few  lines  in  her  check-book.  She  visits  her 
own  poor,  but  they  are  so  well  cared  for,  this  gives  her  very 
little  to  do  or  think  of.  There  are  no  harrowing  cases  of  want 
and  misery  to  exercise  her  tender  heart :  she  takes  good  care 
there  shall  not  be. 

This  has  been  almost  the  most  miserable  summer  she  ever 
remembers.  She  has  no  heart  or  pleasure  in  anything,  but 
wanders  about  among  her  flowers,  and  lies  in  her  hammock 
on  the  green  island,  with  only  the  heartache  for  company. 


MIGNON.  377 

Tears  are  often  in  her  eyes :  she  feels  a  loneliness  that,  in  spite 
of  the  ease  and  luxury  which  surround  her,  makes  her  no  more 
to  be  envied  than  the  poor  sempstress  who  toils  in  a  garret, 
with  only  a  crust  between  her  and  starvation.  It  is  Olga's 
heart  that  is  getting  starved,  and  the  pang  of  hunger  is  harder 
to  bear  because  her  hands  are  idle.  She  knows  that  Leo  is 
back  in  England,  and  feels  cruelly  hurt  by  his  silence.  Ray- 
mond has  written  to  her  of  his  friend's  return  :  he  himself  is 
still  absent,  and  does  not  even  talk  of  coming  home.  Leo  had 
written  once  in  answer  to  the  letter  his  father  forwarded :  in 
it  he  had  told  her  of  his  travels,  of  his  intended  movements, 
but  there  was  not  a  word  of  love  or  hope,  not  a  syllable  he 
might  not  have  written  to  a  woman  for  whom  he  had  never 
professed  anything  more  than  the  most  ordinary  friendship. 
Surely  women  are  unreasonable,  and  Olga,  in  this  sense,  shows 
no  superiority  over  the  rest  of  her  sex.  A  woman  will  tell  a 
man  plainly  that  she  can  never  be  anything  to  him,  that  he 
must  think  of  her  as  a  sister, — a  dear  sister,  if  he  will,  but 
only  as  a  sister  ;  but  no  sooner  does  he  obey  or  seem  to  obey  her 
than  she  accuses  him  of  caprice,  of  faithlessness,  of  incapability 
of  feeling  a  real  love.  Once  her  slave,  he  must  always  be  her 
slave,  and  hug  his  chains,  though  she  treats  him  with  coldness 
and  cruelty,  though  she  engages  herself  to  another  man,  some- 
times even  though  she  marries  another.  Olga  is  persuaded 
that  Leo  has  quite  forgotten  her :  she  tries  to  fortify  herself 
by  saying  she  has  been  very  wise  in  applying  the  test,  seeing 
how  utterly  unable  he  was  to  bear  it.  And  yet  there  are  times 
when  the  love  of  him,  the  desire  to  see  him,  takes  such  pos- 
session of  her  soul,  she  thinks  she  could  have  borne  better  to 
be  unhappy  with  him  than  to  be  so  lonely  and  miserable 
without  him. 

She  reads  in  the  paper  that  he  is  the  Conservative  candidate 

for  D j  and  sends  for  the  local  papers  and  devours  greedily 

every  word  in  them  that  concerns  him.  She  is  divided  be- 
tween joy  and  pain  when  she  hears  of  his  success, — she  has 
grown  so  jealous  of  the  new  mistress,  whom  she  herself  gave 
him  as  a  consolation  for  the  loss  of  herself. 

When  it  is  over,  she  sits  down  to  write  to  him.  She  has 
expected  to  hear  something  from  him :  he  might  even  have 
had  the  common  politeness  to  send  her  a  paper.  But,  from 
first  to  last,  he  makes  no  sign.  Then,  ashamed  of  her  own 

32* 


378  MIGNON. 

weakness,  yet  unable  to  conquer  it,  she  takes  pen  in  hand, 
and  writes  him  thus : 

"Mr  DEAR  LEO, — 

"  I  have  been  hoping  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  occupation  a 
contested  election  must  have  given  you,  you  would  find  time 
to  write  a  few  words  to  one  who  takes  pleasure  in  remember- 
ing (if  you  have  forgotten  it)  that  she  first  inspired  you  with 
the  project  that  has  come  to  such  a  happy  fulfilment  to-day. 
I  need  not  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  of  your  success :  if  you 
have  any  remembrance  of  our  talks  in  bygone  days,  you  will 
divine  that  I  am  proud  of  it, — and  of  you  too.  I  think  I  un- 
derstand in  the  almost  studied  absence  of  great  professions  in 
your  speech,  that  you  fully  and  honestly  intend  to  do,  not  as 
little  as  possible  of  what  you  promise,  but  a  great  deal  more. 
You  have  probably  advanced  so  far  now  in  the  study  of  politics, 
you  are  no  doubt  so  fully  decided  upon  the  course  you  intend 
to  pursue,  that  you  no  longer  need  a  woman's  enthusiasm  to  in- 
spire you :  you  have  discovered,  perhaps,  that  it  is  unpractical. 
And  yet  many  men  have  been  none  the  worse  for  having  a 
friend  of  the  other  sex  in  whom  to  confide  their  aspirations. 
They  have  been  glad  that  a  woman  should  rejoice  in  their  suc- 
cess and  sympathize  with  them  in  their  disappointments.  And 
may  not  I  still  be  that  to  you,  dear  Leo  ?  Of  course  I  can 
imagine  how  much  engaged  you  are  at  the  present  moment ; 
but  could  you  not  find  time  to  run  down  here  for  a  day  or  two 
and  resume  your  acquaintance  with  the  inhabitants  of  The 
Manor  House,  who  will  all  give  you  the  heartiest  welcome  ? 
Two  years  ago,  it  was,  I  fear,  a  dearer  spot  to  you  than  it  is 
now :  but,  remember !  public  men  should  always  have  good 
memories.  Good-by.  I  shall  be  disappointed  if  you  do  not  fix 
some  time  within  a  month  to  come  to  us.  Always,  dear  Leo, 
"  Most  sincerely  yours, 

"  OLGA  STRATHEDEN." 

Leo  has  been  out  riding,  and  the  second  post  has  come  in 
his  absence.  In  great  disgust  and  wrath,  Mr.  Vyner  has 
beheld  the  Blankshire  postmark,  and  the  distinct  well-bred 
handwriting  that  his  soul  abhors. 

"  Here,"  he  says,  thrusting  the  letter  into  his  son's  hand  as 
he  enters, — "  another  letter  from  that — that  woman."  (With 


MIGNON.  379 

great  difficulty  he  foregoes  the  adjective  which  always  seems 
appropriate  to  him  in  speaking  of  her.)  "  She  can't  let  you 
alone.  For  the  matter  of  that,  I  never  knew  a  woman  who 
could.  Perhaps  her  regard  for  you  is  increased  now  you're  an 
M.R" 

Leo's  color  rises,  his  heart  throbs,  as  he  takes  the  letter. 
His  father  watches  him  narrowly. 

"  For  God's  sake,  my  boy,"  he  says,  imploringly,  "  don't  let 
her  make  a  fool  of  you  again." 

Leo  goes  away  with  his  treasure,  half  divided  between  de- 
light and  regret.  The  regret  is  that  he  can  still  feel  so  keen 
a  delight  at  the  sight  of  Olga's  writing.  He  goes  a  good  long 
way  into  the  wood  before  he  breaks  the  seal.  As  he  reads  it, 
a  deep  glow  of  pleasure  comes  into  his  heart  to  know  that  she 
cares  so  much  for  his  success,  and  he  begins  to  turn  over  in 
his  mind  how  soon  he  can  get  away  to  go  and  see  her.  Next 
week,  at  the  latest,  he  will  spare  two  days :  what  is  the  incon- 
venience in  comparison  with  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  dear 
face  and  of  hearing  her  voice  say  she  is  glad  of  his  success  ? 
And,  after  all,  is  it  not  true  that  he  owes  it  to  her  ? 

But,  after  the  first  joyful  determination,  doubts  begin  to 
assail  him.  Is  it  worth  while,  for  a  few  hours'  pleasure,  to 
fight  the  old  battle  over  again,  to  suffer  the  long,  weary  pain 
of  hopeless  love,  to  see  how  fair  and  charming  she  is,  only  to 
realize  the  bitter  blank  of  a  life  without  her  ?  Shall  he  take 
the  zest  out  of  his  new  career,  weaken  his  energies,  unfit  him- 
self for  the  duties  which  he  has  sworn  to  fulfil  to  the  very 
best  and  highest  of  his  ability  ?  It  costs  him  a  long  and  bitter 
struggle  to  forego  the  pleasure  he  has  promised  himself,  but  in 
the  end  he  conquers. 

At  dinner  his  father  remarks,  with  extreme  chagrin,  that  he 
is  silent  and  out  of  sorts,  and  that  he  wears  a  pale  and  haggard 
look  he  has  not  seen  on  his  face  for  many  a  day.  After  dinner, 
Mr.  Vyner  gets  suddenly  out  of  his  chair,  and,  coming  over  to 
where  Leo  sits,  lays  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  says, 
with  strong  emotion  in  his  voice, — 

"  My  boy,  don't  go  back  to  the  old  state  of  things.  Shake  off 
this  woman's  influence.  Be  a  man.  Remember,  you  are  not 
your  own  master  now." 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  Leo  answers,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  You 
need  have  no  fear  for  me." 


380  MIGNON. 


CHAPTER   XLIY. 

"  That  they  may  know  these  golden  years. 
Which  Love  has  made  to  seem  so  bright, 
Were  heralded  by  darkest  night, 
And  earned  in  bitterness  and  tears." 

Violet  Fane. 

LEO  sits  up  late  that  night  writing  his  reply  to  Olga's  letter. 
It  is  this : 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  STRATHEDEN, — 

"  If  I  have  not  written  to  you  about  my  affairs,  it  is  not 
because  I  am  either  ungrateful  or  forgetful.  I  think  I  need 
hardly  tell  you  that ;  for,  were  either  the  cause  of  my  silence, 
I  should  be  unworthy  of  a  place  in  your  thoughts.  Whose  sym- 
pathy could  be  so  dear  to  me  as  hers  to  whose  counsel  and  in- 
spiration I  owe  the  wish,  the  very  idea,  of  being  anything 
more  than  I  was  contented  to  be  two  years  ago?  Let  me 
speak  out  to  you  fairly  and  frankly  this  once ;  let  me  tell  you 
everything  that  is  in  my  heart.  Nothing  in  this  world  would 
give  me  so  much  happiness  as  to  see  you, — above  all  things, 
to  see  you  at  the  dear  old  Manor  House,  with  which  my  dearest 
and  happiest  memories  are  indissolubly  linked.  My  first  im- 
pulse was  to  go  to  you :  I  had  even  fixed  joyfully  in  my  own 
heart  the  day  and  hour  when  I  should  see  you  once  again.  It 
is  only  after  a  hard  struggle  that  I  have  conquered  myself,  and 
resolved  not  to  do  what  would  give  me  more  pleasure  than 
anything  else.  The  pleasure  would  cost  me  too  dear.  I  don't 
want  to  evoke  the  sympathies  of  your  kind,  generous  heart  by 
telling  you  how  intensely  my  love  of  you  has  made  me  suffer, 
nor  how  long  and  severe  has  been  the  struggle  to  rally  from  the 
miserable  indifference  to  life  and  the  future  into  which  I  had 
fallen.  Thank  God,  I  have  recovered  my  lost  energies ;  but 
the  joy  with  which  I  saw  your  dear  letter  to-day  makes  me  feel 
how  weak  I  am  after  all,  and  how  mad  it  would  be  to  risk 
having  to  fight  the  long  weary  battle  afresh.  I  must  tell  you 
this  once,  and  you  will  forgive  me  if  it  seems  presumptuous  or 


MIONON.  381 

inconsiderate  in  me  to  repeat  to  you  what  you  have  told  me  it 
gives  you  pain  to  hear.  You  have  been,  you  are,  the  one  love 
of  iny  life, — the  incarnation  to  me  of  all  that  is  pure  and  good 
and  desirable  in  a  woman ;  and  I  ain  OL  2  of  those  who  think 
woman  God's  best  gift  to  man.  My  darling, — let  me  call 
you  so  this  last  time, — I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul: 
how,  then,  do  you  think  I  can  be  satisfied  with  a  poor,  barren 
friendship  ?  a  sympathy  you  are  ready  to  extend  to  any  one 
who  asks  or  needs  it.  I  want  you  for  mine,  mine  alone,  mine 
altogether.  To  be  only  your  friend,  to  have  one  hour,  per- 
haps, with  you,  to  a  hundred  away  from  you,  and  that  one 
embittered  by  the  thought  of  how  soon  I  should  have  to  part 
from  you  !  You  are  not  one  of  those  women  of  whom  one 
suffers  satiety,  whose  pretty  prattle  is  a  relaxation  for  the 
moment,  but  which  one  is  relieved  to  escape  from.  I  see  you 
smile,  thinking  to  yourself  that  I  have  more  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  of  your  sex  than  the  Leo  whom  you  remember. 
No  ;  the  more  one  has  of  your  dear  society,  the  more  charming 
and  precious  it  becomes,  the  more  one  hungers  after  it  when 
one  has  lost  it.  You  say  men  have  been  glad  sometimes  of 
women,  to  confide  to  those  sympathizing  ears  their  ambitions, 
their  successes,  their  disappointments ;  but,  rely  upon  it,  they 
were  not  women  passionately,  hopelessly  beloved,  as  you  are  by 
me.  To  give  those  confidences,  a  man  must  have  the  calm, 
restful  feeling  of  friendship,  not  the  restless  passion  of  denied 
love.  And  so,  telling  you  this  solemn  truth,  I  throw  myself 
upon  your  mercy,  and,  confessing  to  you  all  my  gratitude,  my 
love,  my  devotion,  I  ask  you  to  save  me  new  pain  by  letting 
me  try,  not  to  forget  you,  but  to  tear  you  out  of  the  every-day 
work  of  my  life.  You  shall  be  my  incentive  to  all  that  is  good : 
when  I  want  strength  of  purpose  for  some  difficult  task,  as 
God  knows  I  shall  often  enough,  I  will  look  at  your  picture, 
my  dearest  possession,  and  remember  the  noble  words  you  used 
to  speak  to  me  in  the  old  days  ;  and  if  I  ever  achieve  anything 
worth  doing,  say  to  yourself,  '  He  did  it  by  my  help,  and  for  my 
sake.'  God  bless  you,  my  angel,  my  darling  !  pray  for  me  some- 
times in  your  pure  heart.  I  cannot  help  but  be  the  better  for  it. 
"  Ever  yours,  and  yours  entirely,  LEO." 

Can  you  imagine  what  Olga  felt  when  she  read  that  letter  ? 
I  will  not  venture  on  such  sacred  ground.     I  only  know  that 


382  MJGNON. 

she  locked  herself  in  her  room,  and  when  she  came  out  of  it, 
hours  afterwards,  her  eyes  were  red  from  crying.  But  there  are 
other  tears  than  those  grief  wrings  from  the  heart.  There  was 
a  small  thin  letter  in  her  hand,  and  it  held  these  words :  u  If 
you  are  very  sure  you  love  me  as  you  say, — if,  after  dreaming 
me  so  far  higher  and  better  than  I  am,  you  can  bear  the 
awakening, — come !  Oh,  Leo  !  did  you  never  guess  it  was  for 
your  own  sake  I  sent  you  away  ?" 

When  Leo  reads  these  lines,  his  brain  reels.  Over  and 
over  he  scans  them,  almost  fancying  it  must  be  a  delusion. 
Do  the  gods  ever  grant  such  utter  bliss  to  a  man  all  at  once  ? 
Then  he  begins  to  make  joyful  preparation  for  obeying  her 
summons :  he  will  start  by  the  first  train  to-morrow.  True, 
lie  has  engagements  for  the  next  two  or  three  days,  and  no 
one  is  more  punctual  or  particular  than  Leo ;  but  once  in  a 
man's  life  he  may  be  pardoned  for  throwing  over  business  and 
letting  love  make  him  for  the  moment  inconsiderate  of  sub- 
lunary matters. 

"  Hey-day,  Leo  !"  cries  his  father,  coming  in  at  this  moment 
and  seeing  Leo's  glad  flushed  face.  "  What  pleasant  piece  of 
news  have  you  got  there  ?" 

"  My  dearest  old  dad,"  cries  the  young  fellow,  grasping  his 
father's  hand  and  speaking  in  a  voice  quick  and  uncertain 
from  delight  and  excitement,  "  I  think  I  am  the  happiest  man 
in  the  world." 

"  Then  no  doubt  you  are  about  to  be  the  most  miserable," 
replies  Mr.  Vyner,  with  acidity. 

"  Pinch  me  !"  cries  Leo,  in  uncontrolled  jubilance  ;  "  make 
me  quite  sure  that  I'm  awake !" 

"  You'll  be  awake  soon  enough,"  snaps  his  father,  coming 
in  like  the  chorus  of  a  Greek  tragedy. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  anything  yet.  Don't  ask  me  any  questions. 
I'm  off  to-morrow  by  the  first  train,  and  when  I  come  back, 
then  you  shall  know  as  much  as  I  do." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  quite  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  Gresham 
is  coming  to-morrow,  and  that  we  have  to  go  over  to  see 
Vivian  in  the  afternoon  ?"  says  Mr.  Vyner,  with  latent 
sarcasm. 

"  It  can't  be  helped,"  says  Leo,  exultantly.  "  For  once  I 
am  going  to  be  unpunctual,  impolite,  inconsiderate,  selfish, 
everything  I  would  rather  not  be  at  any  other  time." 


MIGNON.  383 

"  That's  right !"  remarks  Mr.  Vyner,  dryly.  "  An  excellent 
way  to  begin  your  new  career.  I  suppose  now  that  you've 
got  M.P.  tacked  on  to  your  name  you  think  it  gives  you  the 
privilege  of  forgetting  that  you  are  a  gentleman." 

Leo  is  serious  in  a  moment. 

"  I  hope  I  am  too  much  of  my  father's  son  for  that,  sir. 
Don't  be  hard  upon  me.  It  concerns  the  happiness  or  misery 
of  my  whole  life.  I  will  do  everything  that  is  right ;  no  one 
shall  be  inconvenienced  by  my  neglect ;  but  this  once  every- 
thing must  give  way.  If  you  knew"  (grasping  his  father's 
hand  and  speaking  with  suppressed  fire)  "  how  wretched  I 
have  been,  and  how  happy  I  am  going  to  be,  you  would  not 
say  a  word  to  stop  me." 

And  with  this  Leo  goes  out,  feeling  four  walls  too  narrow 
for  his  vast  happiness. 

"  Poor  infatuated  lad  !"  mutters  his  father,  gazing  after  the 
stalwart,  retreating  form.  "  She  has  done  her  work  well,  the 
Jezebel !  How  befooled,  besotted  he  is  !  And  now  the  next 
thing,  I  suppose,  will  be  my  fine  madam  here,  turning  the 
house  out  of  windows  and  treating  everything  and  everybody 
like  dirt.  I'll  lay  she's  forty  if  she's  a  day, — women  don't 
get  such  a  hold  on  boys  much  before  that  age, — and  paints  her- 
self like  a  mask.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she's  got  that  d d 

golden  hair :  that  sort  of  woman  generally  has.  She'll  have 
an  impudent  French  maid,  and  a  regiment  of  dye-bottles  and 
paint-pots.  I  know  her  !"  cries  the  old  gentleman,  wrathfully, 
imagining  something  as  different  from  the  real  Olga  as  the 
human  mind  could  well  conceive. 

Olga  has  received  Leo's  brief  telegram,  "  I  shall  be  with 
you  by  seven  to-morrow  evening."  She  does  not  sleep  an 
hour  all  the  night,  and  when  morning  comes  she  is  feverish, 
restless,  and  so  nervous  she  cannot  settle  to  anything.  So  she 
orders  her  horse  and  goes  for  a  brisk  gallop.  Oh,  how  the 
hours  crawl  and  creep !  was  ever  a  day  so  long  in  this  world 
before  ?  At  lunch  she  says  to  Mrs.  Forsyth,  trying  to  speak 
naturally, — 

"  Leo  Yyner  is  coming  to-night." 

"  Really  ?  have  you  asked  him  ?     Did  you  expect  him  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  asked  him,"  Olga  replies,  coloring  a  little  as 
she  speaks. 

"  I  almost  wonder  he  can  leave  home  at  such  a  time,"  re- 


384  MIQNON. 

marks  Mrs.  Forsyth,  dryly.  "I  should  have  thought  he 
would  have  so  much  to  do." 

Olga  does  not  make  any  answer.  Mrs.  Forsyth  is  divided 
between  curiosity  and  vexation.  Can  it  be  possible  that 
there  has  been  anything  going  on  all  this  time  without  her 
knowledge  ?  She  had  relapsed  into  a  feeling  of  such  perfect 
security, — Leo  abroad,  Lord  Harley  and  Lord  Threestars  both 
rejected.  "  She  will  never  marry  now,"  Mrs.  Forsyth  has  de- 
cided. And  here  the  lover  she  has  always  dreaded  instinct- 
ively has  returned  upon  the  scene,  and  under  the  most  sus- 
picious circumstances.  To  be  coming  on  a  visit  to  The  Manor 
House  at  a  time  when  he  must  naturally  be  so  much  occupied, 
when,  for  an  ordinary  visit,  a  few  weeks  later  would  have 
made  no  difference  to  Olga,  and  would  have  been  far  more 
convenient  to  him. 

Leo's  train  is  three-quarters  of  an  hour  late :  he  does  not 
reach  The  Manor  House  until  a  quarter  to  eight.  Both  ladies 
are  in  the  drawing-room,  and  he  has  only  just  time  to  exchange 
hurried  greetings  and  rush  off  to  dress  for  dinner.  But  in 
the  moment  during  which  he  and  Olga  have  clasped  hands 
they  have  understood  each  other.  She  is  more  beautiful, 
more  beloved  than  ever  in  his  eyes,  and  she  feels,  by  the  thrill 
of  joy  that  quivers  through  her  as  she  looks  in  his  eyes  and 
touches  his  hand,  that  her  heart  and  imagination  have  not 
played  her  false.  Olga  has  spent  more  time  than  usual  over 
her  toilette  :  her  dress  is  soft  white,  covered  with  delicate  lace, 
and  makes  her  look  almost  girlish.  The  light  of  happiness 
is  in  her  lovely  eyes ;  a  faint  color  tinges  her  cheeks. 

"How  absurd  of  her  to  be  so  overdressed !"  says  Mrs. 
Forsyth,  crossly,  to  herself.  She  does  not  often  find  fault 
with  Olga,  whom  she  loves  most  truly,  but  she  is  very  jealous 
of  her  caring  for  any  one  else.  All  through  dinner  she  is 
unusually  taciturn :  her  wonted  tact  seems  to  have  deserted 
her ;  but  neither  Leo  nor  Olga  remarks  it, — they  are  far  too 
much  absorbed  in  each  other.  Olga  does  not  disdain  the 
gracious  coquetries  that  make  a  woman  so  charming  in  the 
eyes  of  the  man  who  loves  her,  and  Leo,  if  more  self-contained 
than  in  the  days  when  his  adoring  glances  took  Truscott  and 
the  footmen  into  confidence  as  to  his  feelings,  is  not  always 
careful  to  suppress  the  triumphant  fire  in  his  eyes.  The  con- 
versation never  flags  for  a  moment :  the  lips  of  both  are  bub- 


MIGNON.  385 

bling  over  with  happy  talk  and  laughter ;  to  both,  the  happi- 
piness,  the  originality  of  the  situation  seems  as  great  as  to  the 
first  man  and  woman.  The  old  charm  steals  over  Leo,  the 
charm  of  the  first  day  when  the  refined  luxury  of  all  the 
arrangements  at  The  Manor  House  struck  the  chords  of  a  new 
sense  in  him.  And  to  that  is  added  the  intoxication  of  a  first 
and  intense  love.  To  him,  Olga  is  the  most  perfectly  beauti- 
ful as  well  as  the  most  beloved  woman  in  the  world :  there  is 
not  one  thing  in  her.  that  is  not  altogether  lovely  and  gracious. 
And  her  consciousness  of  his  belief  in  her  lends  to  Olga  that 
exceeding  graciousness  that  the  belief  of  the  man  who  loves 
her  always  gives  to  a  charming  and  sympathetic  woman. 

Leo  waits  for  a  moment  after  the  two  ladies  leave  the  room, 
in  the  hope  that  Mrs.  Forsyth  will  be  as  considerate  as  in 
days  of  yore,  when  he  had  so  often  blessed  and  revered  her  for 
her  judicious  disappearance.  His  heart  throbs  as  he  goes 
towards  the  drawing-room  :  the  strong  arm  falters  as  it  turns 
the  handle.  It  need  not.  Mrs.  Forsyth  is  there,  discoursing 
in  a  most  lively  wide-awake  mood :  evidently  she  has  no  idea 
of  leaving  them  to  themselves.  Olga  is  trying  to  conceal  her 
chagrin,  and  Leo  feels  provoked  and  disappointed.  Mrs.  For- 
syth, who  during  dinner  had  seemed  to  take  but  very  mediocre 
interest  in  Leo's  travels,  is  suddenly  seized  with  an  ungovern- 
able curiosity  about  all  the  places  he  has  visited,  the  sport  he 
has  had,  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  different  nations 
with  whom  he  has  mixed.  Olga  is  growing  nervous :  the 
strain  is  almost  more  than  she  can  bear.  At  last  she  takes  the 
law  into  her  own  hands.  She  rings  the  bell,  and  orders  the 
lamps  to  be  lighted  in  the  Folly.  The  last  few  days  have  been 
bright  and  hot  like  a  return  of  summer :  no  fear  of  finding  any 
place  in  or  out  of  the  house  too  cold  to-night.  Mrs.  Forsyth 
understands,  and  accepts  the  situation  as  best  she  may.  So, 
when  Truscott  comes  to  announce  that  the  Folly  is  lighted,  she 
asks  to  be  excused  accompanying  Olga  for  the  present,  as  (with 
a  yawn  and  a  smile  that  tries  to  be  gracious)  she  feels  her  old 
bad  habit  stealing  over  her. 

"  Beware  of  once  beginning  it,  Mr.  Vyner,"  she  says, 
pleasantly,  to  Leo,  but  feeling  in  her  heart  that  she  would 
like  to  put  him  to  a  sleep  that  it  would  take  him  a  considerable 
time  to  awaken  from.  So  Olga,  with  a  nervous  beating  of  her 
heart,  precedes  Leo  along  the  handsome  hall,  through  whose 
R  33 


386  MIGNON. 

painted  windows  the  silvery  light  falls  softly,  into  the  Folly. 
It  is  lighted  just  enough  to  lend  a  mysterious  charin  to  the 
scene :  here  and  there  a  lamp  sheds  a  mellow  radiance  through 
many-colored  glass,  and  from  above,  the  moon  falls  happily 
upon  the  plashing  silver  water  and  velvet  moss.  Yet,  now 
they  are  here  alone,  now  that  the  moment  has  come  that  is  to 
seal  the  joy  of  their  lives,  an  enchantment  has  fallen  upon 
them :  both  are  tongue-tied.  Is  it  that  they  are  so  joyfully 
secure  of  the  future  that  they  can  afford  to  delay  their  happi- 
ness yet  a  little  space?  Side  by  side  they  pass  together 
through  the  grove  of  orange-trees,  between  whose  leaves  the 
marble  of  the  statues  gleams  whitely.  Presently  Olga  stops 
before  a  rose.  Then  suddenly  Leo  takes  both  her  little 
trembling  hands  in  his,  and  says,  in  a  low,  concentrated  voice, 
"Why  did  you  send  for  me  ?" 

He  has  no  need  to  ask :  no  doubt  or  fear  assails  his  heart ; 
triumphant  joy  is  written  in  his  glad  blue  eyes,  in  every  line 
of  his  comely  face.  And,  since  his  question  needs  no  answer, 
Olga  gives  it  none,  but  in  silence  lifts  her  lovely  eyes  to  his. 

Sometimes,  in  happy  dreams,  Leo  has  held  his  heart's 
delight  in  his  glad  arms,  drawing, 

"  In  one  long  kiss,  her  whole  soul  through 
Her  lips," 

and  has  awaked  with  beating  pulse  and  empty,  outstretched 
arms,  crying  out  her  dear  name  in  vain.  But  to-day  he  no 
longer  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

IT  is  the  9th  of  May,  1876, — a  day  with  a  bright  sun  and 
a  cutting  wind,  such  as  embittered  the  whole  spring  of  this 
year.  Lady  Clover  has  wisely  decided  not  to  venture  out,  as 
she  proposes  to  attend  her  Majesty's  Drawing-room  on  the 
morrow.  Besides,  she  is  expecting  a  visitor,  and  his  deferred 
arrival  causes  her  to  glance  impatiently  every  now  and  then 
from  her  novel  to  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece.  True,  her 


MIGNON.  387 

book  is  one  of  the  most  charming  stories  ever  written,  "  The 
Boudoir  Cabal,"  but  there  are  states  of  mind  that  prevent  one 
fixing  one's  attention  on  a  book  that  at  another  time  would 
completely  engross  us.  The  years  that  have  passed  since  we 
last  saw  her  little  ladyship  have  only  laid  the  weight  of  an  ad- 
ditional embonpoint  upon  her, — a  very  becoming  one,  and  not 
calculated  to  cause  her  the  least  anxiety,  or  any  haunting 
thought  of  Banting.  She  has  a  charming  little  air  of  matron- 
hood  that  vastly  becomes  her,  and  makes  her,  with  her  two  lovely 
children,  a  very  sweet  picture.  These  two  golden-headed 
cherubs,  lovely  enough  to  have  been  a  study  for  Carlo  Dolce 
or  Sir  Joshua,  are  disputing  possession  of  the  great  fur  rug 
with  our  old  friends  Strephon  and  Chloe,  who,  having  come 
to  regard  them  as  necessary  evils,  tolerate  them  accordingly. 

"  Oopit,  oo  naughty  boy,  oo  not  to  pull  Koe's  tail!"  lisps 
the  rosebud  mouth  of  Kitty's  daughter.  "  Mamma,  cold 
Oopit." 

"  Rupert,  darling,  what  are  you  doing  to  poor  Chloe?"  asks 
his  mamma. 

"I  doin'  nussin',"  answers  Rupert,  stoutly.  "Kissy  put 
her  finger  in  Steffy's  eye." 

At  this  moment  the  bell  rings,  and  general  attention  is  di- 
verted to  the  approach  of  the  expected  visitor.  The  door  is 
promptly  opened ;  steps  are  heard  ascending  the  stairs  ;  a 
moment  later  "  Mr.  L'Estrange"  is  announced. 

There  was  a  time  when  Kitty,  in  her  indignation,  had 
vowed  never  to  speak  to  Raymond  again ;  but  the  lapse  of 
years  has  removed  her  resentment,  and  she  greets  him  with  all 
the  effusion  due  to  a  long-lost  prodigal.  For  his  part,  his 
handsome  face  lights  up  with  real  pleasure  at  sight  of  his  old 
friend,  looking  more  lovely  and  lovable  than  ever. 

"  What  centuries  since  we  met !"  cries  Kitty.  "  I  thought 
you  were  lost  to  us  forever.  Stay  1"  (with  a  little  comedy  air, 
pointing  to  the  hearth-rug),  "  I  have  an  introduction  to  make. 
'  These  are  my  jewels'  /" 

"  The  modern  Cornelia, — black  pearls  and  white,"  laughs 
Raymond,  advancing  to  the  rug.  London  life,  and  an  im- 
mense number  of  visitors,  have  cured  the  pugs  of  their 
ferocity  to  strangers :  increasing  years  and  stoutness  make  it 
inconvenient  to  play  a  perpetual  role  of  watch-dog.  So 
now  men  may  come  and  men  may  go  with  no  more  notice 


388  MIQNON. 

from  them  than  the  lifting  of  a  sleepy  eye,  and  an  occasional 
grumble  as  of  distant,  very  distant,  thunder. 

Raymond  is  not  a  lover  of  children,  but  these  two  delicious 
morsels  of  pink  and  white  and  gold  offer  nothing  to  repel  the 
most  aversely  disposed,  and  he  accepts  and  returns  the  salutes 
of  two  pairs  of  rosy  vet  lips  with  equanimity,  if  not  pleasure. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  see  these  darlings,"  says  the  proud  mother. 
"  Whom  do  you  think  they  are  like  ?" 

"  Will  you  be  mortally  offended  if  I  don't  see  a  striking 
resemblance  to  their  father  ?"  smiles  Raymond. 

"  I  suppose  they  are  more  like  me,"  answers  Kitty ;  "  though 
my  mother-in-law  insists  they  are  both  quite  Clovers.  Now 
you  have  seen  them,  I  won't  bore  you  with  them  any  longer." 
And  she  lays  a  hand  on  the  bell. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  cries  Rupert,  running  towards  her.  "  Me 
top." 

"  Me  top  too,"  says  little  Kitty,  advancing  towards  Raymond, 
and  raising  her  clear  shining  eyes  to  his  face.  "  Oo  is  a  pitty 
man.  Kissy  like  oo." 

"  What  a  bare-faced  compliment !"  laughs  Kitty.  "  Now 
then,  darlings,  if  I  let  you  stop,  will  you  go  and  sit  on  the  rug 
and  be  quiet?" 

Rupert  and  Kitty  make  emphatic  promises,  which  they  have 
neither  the  will  nor  the  power  to  keep.  It  is  to  the  benefit 
of  the  conversation  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  nurse  comes  to 
fetch  them  to  tea,  and  a  judicious  hint  of  some  mysterious  deli- 
cacy up-stairs  causes  them  to  depart  in  peace. 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  all  these  years  ?"  asks 
Kitty,  with  friendly  interest,  as  soon  as  they  are  alone. 

"  Trying  with  more  or  less  success  to  kill  time,"  answers 
Raymond. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  Settle  down  and 
become  respectable  ?" 

"  Respectability  is  dull.     I  confess  it  has  no  charms  for  me." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  at  all  improved,"  says  Kitty,  in  a 
reproving  tone.  "  Who  was  that  very  pretty  woman  I  saw  you 
with  at  the  Opera  last  night?" 

"  Oh,  that  was  Mrs.  Lascelles.  Poor  little  woman  !  she  has 
an  awful  brute  of  a  husband :  it  is  quite  a  charity  to  be  kind 
to  her." 

Kitty  arches  her  eyebrows. 


MIGNON.  389 

"  Rather  doubtful  kindness,  I'm  afraid,  on  the  part  of  a  hand- 
some young  man.  So  you  go  about  the  world  championing 
neglected  wives  ?" 

"  One  should  never  lose  an  opportunity  of  doing  a  kind  ac- 
tion," says  Raymond,  with  something  between  a  smile  and  a 
sneer. 

"  But  tell  me,"  asks  Kitty,  "  do  you  still  intend  to  lead  this 
wandering  life?  Don't  you  ever  mean  to  come  back  to  Blank- 
shire?" 

"  You  know  the  house  is  let  for  three  years,"  he  answers. 
"  There  is  no  inducement  for  me  to  go  back  now  my  poor 
mother  is  dead.  I  had  the  letters  telling  me  of  her  illness 
and  death  together,  and  then  I  was  thousands  and  thousands 
of  miles  away  from  England.  Poor  mother !"  And  Ray- 
mond's brow  clouds  for  a  moment  with  sincere  regret. 

"  It  was  very  sad,"  says  Kitty,  sympathetically.  "  But  do 
you  still  mean  to  live  abroad  ? — do  you  really  like  it  better 
than  England  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do.  I  make  Paris  my  headquarters :  I  have  a 
large  acquaintance  there,  and  I  find  French  society  a  great 
deal  more  to  my  taste  than  English." 

"  How  unpatriotic  of  you  !     And  how  about  sport?" 

"  I  have  as  much  as  I  want ;  but  I  am  not  as  keen  about  it 
as  I  used  to  be." 

"  One  of  these  days  you  will  bring  home  a  French  wife,  I 
suppose." 

"  God  forbid  !"  answers  Raymond,  devoutly.  "  I  shall  never 
marry." 

"  So  I  have  heard  many  men  say." 

"  A  wife  is  a  charming  thing,  no  doubt,"  says  Raymond, 
"  but  I  am  not  sure  that  she  always  confers  the  greatest  good 
in  the  sphere  in  which  it  is  intended  that  she  shall." 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Raymond.  Haveyow  taken  up  the 
present  fashion  of  reviling  women?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  adore  them.  But  I  think  they  are 
very  much  the  creatures  of  circumstance." 

Before  so  charming  a  member  of  the  sex  as  Lady  Clover, 
Raymond  is  not  tempted  to  air  his  damaging  theories  about 
women.  He  has  been  very  bitter  against  them  ever  since  the 
Marquise  de  C.,  the  woman  with  such  infinite  tact,  such  charm- 
ing, caressing  manners,  threw  him  over.  Truth  to  tell,  Ray- 

33* 


390  MIQNON. 

mond's  good  looks  were  not  a  sufficient  makeweight  for  hia 
exactions  and  his  perverse  temper,  and  when  he  wearied  her 
she  gave  him  his  conge  remorselessly.  Since  then,  Raymond 
has  written  bitter  things  of  women  in  his  heart,  and  rarely  fails 
to  air  his  scorn  and  contempt  of  them,  though,  like  many  re- 
vilers  of  the  sex,  he  is  seldom  out  of  their  society,  and  one  of 
his  greatest  grievances  against  them  is  that  they  are  not  so  bad 
as  he  would  have  them. 

u  Tell  me  all  the  Blankshire  news,"  he  says ;  and  Kitty, 
putting  her  hand  to  her  head,  in  an  attitude  of  reflection, 
says, — 

"  You  must  be  in  such  tremendous  arrears,  I  hardly  know 
where  to  begin.  Of  course  you  know  all  about  Olga's  mar- 
riage ?" 

"  I  know  she  did  marry,  but  there  my  knowledge  ends.  It 
must  be  nearly  three  years,  I  think,  since  I  had  a  wild,  inco- 
herent letter  from  Leo  about  his  bliss,  his  rapture,  and  his 
unworthiness.  I  suppose  he  is  desiHusionne  long  before  this." 

"Indeed  he  is  not!"  cries  Kitty,  energetically:  "he  is  the 
most  utterly  devoted  husband  I  ever  knew :  it  is  positively 
enraging  sometimes  to  see  how  he  adores  her." 

"  Why?"  asks  Raymond.     "  Do  you  not  like  her?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  I  love  her.  Does  not  every  one  ?  But 
it  makes  one  so  envious  to  see  a  woman  put  on  a  pedestal  and 
adorod  as  if  she  were  a  goddess.  Whenever  I  have  been  with 
them,  I  always  come  home  and  lead  poor  Jo  a  dreadful  life, 
and  tell  him  that  he  does  not  care  a  bit  for  me." 

"  And  what  does  he  say  to  that  ?" 

Kitty  assumes  a  slow,  solemn  manner,  mimicking  her  husband 
to  the  life. 

"  l  My  dear,'  he  says,  '  no  doubt  it  is  very  charming  to  be 
demonstratively  adored  by  a  fine,  handsome  young  fellow  like 
Mr.  Vyner ;  but  don't  you  think  if  a  steady-going,  middle-aged 
man  like  myself  were  to  attempt  those  blandishments,  it  would 
rather  remind  you  of  an  elephant  attempting  to  prance  like  a 
horse  ?'  There's  a  good  deal  in  that,  you  know,"  says  Kitty, 
mischievously,  resuming  her  natural  voice.  "  But,  seriously, 
I  think  Olga  is  the  happiest,  the  most  enviable  woman  in  the 
world ;  and  you  can't  think  how  young  she  looks, — not  a  day 
older  than  when  you  last  saw  her.  And  though  she  is  not  at 
all  demonstrative  in  public,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  fond  and 


MIONON.  391 

proud  she  is  of  him.  He  made  his  maiden  speech  in  Parlia- 
ment this  year,  a  very  good  one  indeed,  and  Lord  B.  tells  me 
they  look  upon  him  as  a  very  rising  man.  Both  he  and  Olga 
have  their  heads  full  of  quixotic  ideas  about  benefiting  their 
fellow -creatures,  but  it  seems  to  make  them  extremely  happy." 

"  It  was  a  great  thing  for  Leo,  marrying  a  woman  with  a 
lot  of  money,"  remarks  Raymond. 

"  So  any  sensible  person  would  think,"  cries  Kitty ;  "  but 
he  is  such  a  goose  that  it  has  been  quite  a  trouble  to  him.  It 
is  the  only  thing  they  ever  quarrelled  about.  He  insisted  on 
every  farthing  being  settled  upon  her,  and  won't  touch  it. 
His  father  allows  him  fifteen  hundred  a  year,  and,  though  he 
loves  Olga  to  live  sumptuously,  and  have  beautiful  horses,  and 
be  perfectly  dressed,  he  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  money 
himself.  Did  you  ever  meet  old  Mr.  Vyner?" 

"  Oh,  yes :  I  knew  him  very  well." 

"  Well,  he  is  almost  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  his  son  ; 
and  the  most  amusing  part  of  it  is,  he  conceived  the  greatest 
horror  of  her  before  he  saw  her.  He  is  never  tired  of  telling 
me  what  a  horrid  painted  creature  he  expected  to  see,  and  how 
he  fell  in  love  with  Olga  the  first  time  he  saw  her." 

"  What  a  happy  family  !"  utters  Raymond,  with  a  curl  of 
his  handsome  lip.  "  But  what  has  become  of  Mrs.  Forsyth  ? 
it  must  have  been  a  bad  lookout  for  her." 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  Olga  did  everything  that  was  liberal 
and  generous.  In  the  first  place,  she  settled  a  handsome 
annuity  upon  her.  Then  she  is  frequently  with  them  :  when 
Olga  spends  the  usual  three  months  at  Mr.  Yyner's  place,  she 
lives  at  The  Manor  House,  and  has  always  free  quarters  in 
Curzon  Street.  Of  course  she  did  not  like  it  at  first ;  but  she 
was  sensible  enough  to  make  the  best  of  it.  You  know  Olga 
has  a  little  daughter,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  did  not  know  it." 

"  The  most  lovely  little  creature  you  can  imagine,  with  her 
mother's  great  brown  eyes  and  her  father's  golden  hair.  Olga 
Catherine,  my  .god-daughter,  and  betrothed  to  Rupert"  (laugh- 
ing). "  But  when  she  was  a  few  weeks  old,  poor  Olga  nearly 
died.  I  was  with  her,  and  I  thought  Leo  would  have  gone 
out  of  his  mind :  he  was  like  one  distraught.  One  day  he 
came  into  my  room,  and,  grasping  both  my  hands,  said,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  '  Oh,  Lady  Clover,  pray  to  God  to  spare  my 


392  MIGNON. 

darling !  Perhaps  he  will  hear  you.  What  shall  I  do  if  I 
lose  her?  what  shall  I  do  ?' " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  was  Leo's  line,"  says  Raymond,  with 
a  little  sneer.  "  He  used  not  to  be  celebrated  for  his  piety." 

"I  don't  know  that  he  is  particularly  religious,"  answers 
Kitty.  "  But  don't  you  think"  (a  little  shyly,  a  certain 
dimness  veiling  her  blue  eyes)  "  that  when  one  is  in  awful 
trouble,  one's  impulse  is  to  go  for  help  where  one  knows  it 
can  be  given  ?" 

"  Perhaps,"  says  Raymond,  in  an  indifferent  tone,  and  Kitty's 
momentary  pathos  takes  flight. 

"  And  do  you  think  this  violent  love  is  warranted  to  last?" 
he  asks.  "  It  does  not  generally  stand  much  wear  and  tear. 
And  it  is  always  rather  a  dangerous  experiment,  a  man  marry- 
ing a  woman  older  than  himself." 

•'  Yes,"  admits  Kitty,  "  generally  speaking  it  is.  But  there 
seems  such  perfect  sympathy  between  these  two,  and  you  know 
Olga  is  a  woman  in  a  thousand." 

"  Granted ;  but  you  will  see  Leo  will  be  breaking  out  one 
of  these  days." 

"  Is  it  your  creed  that,  as  no  women  are  good,  no  men  are 
faithful  ?"  asks  Kitty,  with  some  vivacity. 

"  Men  have  a  great  many  temptations,"  answers  Raymond, 
evasively.  "  But"  (turning  the  subject,  and  speaking  with  a 
shade  of  hesitancy)  "  I  have  some  other  neighbors  of  yours  to 
ask  after, — the  Bergholts." 

Kitty  has  always  declared  stoutly  that  if  she  should  ever 
have  the  chance  she  will  tax  Raymond  with  his  behavior  to 
Mignon.  But  here  is  the  very  opportunity,  and  yet  she  feels 
no  desire  to  take  advantage  of  it.  She  only  says, — 

"  They  are  very  well." 

"  Has  Lady  Bergholt  quite  recovered  from  her  accident  ?" 
asks  Raymond,  in  the  polite  but  indifferent  tone  with  which 
one  makes  an  inquiry  after  a  casual  acquaintance. 

"  It  is  hardly  perceptible  now,"  answers  Lady  Clover.  "  But 
she  can  never  be  persuaded  to  believe  it.  One  side  of  her  face 
is  still  exquisitely  lovely,  and  it  is  only  a  little  peculiarity  of 
expression  that  prevents  the  other  being  the  same,  for  unless 
you  are  close  the  scars  are  hardly  visible.  I  often  hear  people 
admire  her  immensely,  and  it  was  only  the  other  day  Colonel 
Grey  said  to  me,  '  What  a  lovely  creature  Lady  Bergholt  is  !  I 


MIQNON.  393 

never  saw  a  woman  I  should  like  more  to  whisper  soft  nothings 
to'  (you  know  his  droll  way),  '  but  she  always  makes  me  sit 
half  a  mile  off,  and  many  things  which  are  charming,  uttered 
in  a  low  key,  lose  considerably  by  being  bawled  upon  the 
housetop  or  half  way  across  a  room.'  " 

"  Her  sensitiveness  about  her  appearance  must  be  a  great 
comfort  and  safeguard  to  her  husband,"  utters  Raymond,  with 
a  veiled  sneer. 

"  Yes,"  answers  Kitty,  with  spirit,  "  they  are  very  happy, 
very  happy  indeed :  he  worships  her,  and  she  is  really  very 
fond  of  him.  You  know  she  was  never  very  demonstrative  or 
warm  in  manner,  but  what  affection  she  has  she  certainly 
divides  between  him  and  her  brother.  Young  Carlyle  has  ex- 
changed into  the  Guards,  and  lives  with  the  Bergholts  almost 
entirely.  He  is  a  charming  young  fellow :  women  do  their 
utmost  to  spoil  him,  but  they  don't  succeed,  and  not  one  of 
them  ever  makes  him  neglect  his  sister." 

"  How  touching !" 

"  Yes,  it  is  touching  to  see  the  love  of  both  those  men  for 
her.  I  do  not  believe  she  has  a  wish  ungratified  if  they  can 
procure  its  accomplishment." 

"  And  does  Lady  Bergholt  still  crush  her  friends  with  her 
frank  remarks?  is  she  as  sweet-tempered  as  formerly?" 

The  color  mounts  to  Kitty's  cheeks.  She  feels  thoroughly 
indignant  with  Raymond  for  the  manner  in  which  he  is  speak- 
ing of  a  woman  for  whom  he  once  professed  so  deep  a  passion. 

"  I  should  hardly  have  thought  you  would  have  so  keen  a 
memory  for  her  failings,"  she  says,  in  a  reproachful  tone. 
"  Time  was  when  words  were  too  poor  in  your  eyes  to  express 
her  manifold  charms  and  graces.  If  one  has  a  kind  heart, 
when  one's  friends  fall  into  misfortune  one  is  more  apt  to  dwell 
upon  their  good  points  than  their  bad  ones,  I  think." 

As  the  little  lady  utters  this  dignified  reproof,  her  blue  eyes 
glisten  with  tears,  and  her  cheeks  glow  with  a  delicate  pink, 
like  the  heart  of  a  blush  rose. 

"  I  bow  to  your  correction,"  says  Raymond,  a  little  stiffly. 
"  But,  still,  tell  me  all  the  same  whether  she  indulges  in  the 
gentle  asperities  with  which  she  was  wont  to  ecraser  one  in  the 
good  old  days." 

"  No,"  replies  Kitty,  with  warmth :  "  she  is  immensely  im- 
proved. She  rarely  says  a  sharp  thing  now,  and  people  often 
K* 


394  MTONON. 

remark  what  a  graceful,  distinguished  manner  she  has.    I  think 
a  great  deal  of  it  is  due  to  Olga." 

"  To  Olga !"  exclaims  Raymond,  looking  surprised.  "  Why, 
I  thought  they  were  sworn  foes  !" 

"Oh,  yes,  once  she  hated  Olga ;  but  when  she  was  in  trouble 
Olga  nursed  her,  and  behaved  like  an  angel  to  her.  One  is 
always  grateful,  I  think"  (with  a  Parthian  glance  at  Raymond), 
"  to  people  who  are  good  to  one  when  one  is  in  sore  need  of 
their  kindness." 

Raymond  winces  a  little,  but  makes  no  answer. 

"  She  does  a  great  deal  for  the  poor,"  continues  Kitty, 
warmly  ;  "  not  very  much  in  the  way  of  going  to  see  them,  but 
whenever  she  hears  of  anyone  in  trouble  or  distress  she  is  always 
ready  and  glad  to  help  them.  So  perhaps,  after  all  (though  I 
always  think  it  is  a  horrid,  hypocritical  thing  to  pretend  to 
see  good  in  other  people's  misfortunes),  her  life  is  happier  and 
better  than  it  might  have  been  under  other  circumstances." 

"  All's  well  that  ends  well,"  says  Raymond.  "  So,  according 
to  your  story,  every  one  was  happy  ever  after." 

"  Yes,"  laughs  Kitty :  "  the  good  people  were  happy  ever 
after,  and  the  wicked  one  was  punished." 

"  Who  is  the  wicked  one  ?"  asks  Raymond,  laughing.  "  My- 
self?" 

"  Yes,"  says  Kitty,  with  an  arch  nod  of  her  golden  head. 

"  And  how  am  I  punished  ?" 

"  By  being  left  out  in  the  cold,  and  having  no  nice  wife  to 
take  care  of  you  and  make  you  happy." 

"  I  confess,"  says  Raymond,  "  the  dish  of  domestic  bliss  that 
you  have  served  up  for  me  seems  so  appetizing,  I  am  half 
tempted  to  rush  into  matrimony  at  once." 

"  No,"  says  Kitty,  shaking  her  head,  "  you  are  not  a  man 
to  make  a  good  husband  or  to  be  happy  with  a  wife." 

"  How  do  you  know,  pray,  my  lady  ?" 

Kitty  answers  him,  half  laughing,  half  serious, — 

"  You  are  one  of  the  wicked  ones  who,  for  some  unknown 
purpose,  are  allowed  to  go  about  the  world,  turning  the  heads  of 
foolish  women  with  your  handsome  face  and  deceitful  tongue, 
and  bringing  trouble  and  discord  to  the  domestic  hearth." 

"  May  I  ask  how  you  have  learned  so  much  to  my  dis- 
advantage ?"  asks  Raymond,  halting  between  amusement  and 
pique. 


MIGNON.  395 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  at  all  an  uncommon  type  of  man,"  says 
Kitty,  with  an  air  of  superior  wisdom :  "  there  are  a  good 
many  of  you  going  about  the  world  just  now ;  I  meet  you 
often.  You  all  talk  in  the  same  kind  of  way :  you  all  affect 
to  think  ill  of  women,  and  yet  you  are  never  happy  out  of 
their  society ;  and  you  all  have  those  discontented  lines  about 
your  eyes  and  mouth." 

Raymond  rises  and  contemplates  himself  with  extreme  de- 
liberation in  the  mirror  over  the  chimney-piece. 

"  Now  you  mention  it,"  he  says,  smiling,  "  perhaps  I'm  not 
a  particularly  beaming-looking  fellow.  Well,  Kitty, — let  me 
call  you  so  once,  for  the  sake  of  old  times, — I  have  paid 
you  an  unconscionably  long  visit.  Am  I  really  in  your  black 
books,  or  may  I  come  again?" 

"  Of  course  you  may.  Come  often.  I  shall  try  to  reform 
you." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  he  says,  bending  on  her  the  look  and 
speaking  in  the  tones  so  many  women  have  found  irresistible. 
It  has  become  such  a  habit  with  him  to  make  love  to  pretty 
women  that  he  has  fallen  unconsciously  into  it  with  Kitty. 
She  gives  a  gay  laugh. 

"  Nay,  Raymond,"  she  says,  "  it  is  I  who  am  to  reform  you, 
not  you  who  are  to  use  your  seductive  graces  upon  me.  I  am 
an  old  married  woman,  not  one  of  the  flighty  young  matrons 
of  the  day." 

"  I  need  not  ask  if  you  are  happy,  I  suppose?"  says  Ray- 
mond, laughing  too. 

"  Look  at  me,"  she  cries,  saucily,  "  and  form  your  own 
opinion.  I  have  the  kindest,  most  indulgent  husband  in 
the  world :  I  have  only  to  ask  and  have :  you  have  seen  my 
four  jewels,  the  two  white  and  the  two  black  ones,  and  I  defy 
you  to  produce  anything  more  perfect  in  their  way.  Yes,  I 
am  very  happy.  I  should  be  perfectly  if " 

"  If !"  echoes  Raymond.     "  So  you  have  an  if,  too  !" 

"  If  I  hadn't  a  mother-in-law,"  replies  Lady  Clover,  with  an 
arch  smile.  "  One  hears  a  great  deal  about  what  men  suffer 
from  their  wife's  mother,  but  I  never  hear  any  sympathy  given 
to  the  unfortunate  wife  about  her  husband's  mother.  Poor 
dear  soul !  she  means  well,  but  she  is  certainly  the  thorn  to 
the  rose.  I  quarrel  with  her  sometimes  just  for  the  sake  of 
getting  rid  of  her ;  but  then  poor  dear  Jo  has  to  go  and  hu- 


396  MIGNON. 

miliate  himself  abjectly  before  her,  so  for  his  sake  I  don't  do 
it  very  often." 

"  And  how  is  Sir  Josias  ?  I  have  been  rude  enough  not  to 
ask  after  him  all  this  time." 

"  Oh,  he  is  perfectly  well,  and  tremendously  busy  about  the 
Permissive  Bill.  He  made  quite  a  long  speech  in  the  House 
two  or  three  nights  ago." 

"  Good-by,"  says  Raymond,  kissing  her  hand,  and  she  re- 
ceives his  homage  with  the  air  of  a  little  queen. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Sir  Josias  appears  in  the  doorway. 

"Well,  my  love?"  he  exclaims,  in  affectionate  though  not 
original  salutation. 

"  Come  here,  Jo,"  says  his  sovereign  lady,  graciously.  "  I 
have  had  a  man  here, — an  exceedingly  handsome  man :  he 
was  here  quite  two  hours,  I  should  think"  (looking  at  the 
clock).  "  I  have  flirted  desperately  with  him  :  when  he  went 
away  he  kissed  my  hand.  Just  there,  see"  (holding  out  a 
fairy,  dimpled  hand):  "if  you  look  quite  close,  you  will  see 
it  is  a  little  pink  still." 

Sir  Josias,  smiling  with  perfect  imperturbability,  kisses  her 
cheek. 

"  Really,  Jo,"  cries  the  little  lady,  with  affected  pettishness, 
"  it  is  evident  you  do  not  set  the  least  value  upon  me.  Can 
nothing  make  you  jealous?" 

"  No,  my  dear,"  he  says,  turning  upon  her  a  look  in  which 
love  and  confidence  are  perfectly  united, — "  nothing." 


THE   END. 


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